Ch. 01: Front Cover — Wicked Beauty

Also by Katee Robert

Dark Olympus

Neon Gods

Electric Idol

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Books. Change. Lives.

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Contents

Front Cover

Title Page

Excerpt from Radiant Sin

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Back Cover

To everyone who prefers happily ever afters to tragedies.

Helen

“I am so fucking late,” I mutter under my breath. The hallways of Dodona Tower are blessedly empty, but that only makes the clock ticking down inside my head worse. Tonight is the night everything changes. The night when I stop being a pawn in other people’s games and finally gain the agency I’ve craved ever since I was a little girl.

And I can’t believe I’m fucking late.

I pick up my pace, barely managing to resist the urge to run. Showing up out of breath and flustered to an Olympus party is even worse than showing up late. Appearances matter. It’s been a long time since Olympus experienced anything resembling traditional warfare, but every day, little battles are fought and won using the most mundane things.

A carefully designed dress.

A sweet word hiding a poisonous sting.

A marriage.

I duck into the elevator that will take me up to the ballroom floor and barely resist the urge to bounce on my toes with impatience. Normally, I wouldn’t give a damn about any of this. I make petty rebellions an art form.

Tonight is different.

Tonight, my brother Perseus—Zeus, now—is making an announcement that will change everything.

Less than a week ago, Ares passed away. It was hardly unexpected—the man was old as dirt and had been knocking on the doors to the underworld for three months—but it’s opened up an opportunity that’s usually only seen once a generation. Of the Thirteen, Ares alone is open to absolutely anyone. A person’s history, connections, finances don’t matter. You don’t even have to be Olympian.

You simply have to win.

Three trials, all designed to cull the wheat from the chaff, and the last person standing steps up to become Ares. One of the thirteen people who create the ruling body in Olympus. Each handles a specific part of keeping the city running smoothly, but more importantly to me, no one can compel any of them to take an action they don’t want to.

Not even Zeus can force the hand of another member of the Thirteen—or at least that’s the theory. My father never paid attention to those sorts of niceties, and I doubt my brother will now that he’s inherited the title. It doesn’t matter. If I’m Ares, I’m no longer daughter to one Zeus, sister to another, a spoiled princess with no real value beyond her pretty face and family connections.

Becoming Ares will set me free.

The elevator doors open, and I hurry in the direction of the ballroom. The long hallway has changed since the last party, the dour, dark drapes that hung floor to ceiling on either side of the doors replaced with an airy white fabric that has silver threaded through it. It’s still not welcoming, but it’s significantly less oppressive.

I’m curious who made that design call, because Perseus sure as fuck didn’t. Since he stepped up as Zeus after our father’s death, the only thing my oldest brother cares about is running his business and ruling Olympus with an iron fist.

Or at least trying to.

“Helen.”

I stop short, but recognition brings a relieved smile to my face. “Eros. What are you doing out here lurking in the shadows?”

He steps forward and holds up a tiny jeweled bag. “Psyche forgot her purse.” He should look ridiculous holding the purse, especially considering the violence those hands have done, but Eros has a habit of moving through life as if he’s untouchable. No one would dare say a word and he knows it.

“What a good husband you are.” I take the last few steps and press a quick kiss to each of his cheeks. I haven’t seen him much in the last couple months, but he looks good. Eros is one of the most gorgeous people in Olympus—which is saying something—a white guy with curly blond hair and a face to make painters weep at its perfection. “Marriage suits you.”

“More and more every day.” His gaze sharpens. “You’ve pulled out all the stops tonight.”

“Do you like the dress?” I smooth my hands down my gown. It’s a custom piece, the golden fabric molded to my body from shoulders to hips before flaring out the slightest bit. It’s heavy with a subtle pattern that’s designed to catch the light with every move. A deep V dips between my breasts, and the shoulders have been shaped into sharp points that give the slightest impression of military bearing. “It’s a showstopper, as my mother would have said.”

I ignore the twinge in my chest at the thought, just as I always do when my mind tries to linger on the woman who died far too young. She’s been gone fifteen years, having suffered a mysterious fall when I was fifteen. Mysterious. Right. As if all of Olympus didn’t suspect that my father was behind it.

As if I didn’t know it for certain.

Pushing this thought away is second nature. It doesn’t matter what sins my father committed. He’s dead and gone, just like my mother. I hope he’s been suffering in the pits of Tartarus since he drew his last breath. When I think of his death, all I feel is relief. He died before he could marry me off to secure some bullshit alliance, before he could cause even more of the pain he seemed to enjoy inflicting so much.

No, I don’t miss my father at all.

“She’d be proud of you.”

“Maybe.” I glance over his shoulder at the doors. “Maybe she’d be furious over what I’m about to do.” Rock the boat? Fuck, I’m about to tip the boat right over.

Eros doesn’t miss a beat. His brows rise and he shakes his head, looking rueful. “So it’s Ares for you. I should have known. You’ve been missing a lot of parties lately. Training?”

“Yes.” I brace myself for his disbelief. We might be friends, but we’re friends by Olympus standards. I trust Eros not to slide a knife between my ribs. He trusts me not to cause him undue trouble in the press. We hang out on a regular basis at events and parties and occasionally trade favors. I don’t trust him with my deepest secrets. It’s nothing personal. I don’t trust anyone with that part of me.

On the other hand, everyone in Olympus will know my plans very shortly.

I square my shoulders. “I’m going to compete to become the next Ares.”

“Damn.” He whistles under his breath. “You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

He’s not telling me he thinks he can’t do it, but I wilt a little all the same. I didn’t really expect enthusiastic support, but being constantly underestimated never fails to sting. “Yes, well, I’d better get in there.”

“Hold on.” He surveys me. “Your hair is a little lopsided.”

“What?” I lift my hand and touch my head. I can’t tell without a mirror. Damn it, I’m going to be even later, but it’s still better than walking into that room out of sorts.

I start to turn in the direction of the bathroom back toward the elevators, but Eros catches my shoulder. “I got it.” He opens Psyche’s purse and digs around for a few seconds, pulling out an even smaller bag. Inside, there is a bunch of bobby pins. Eros huffs out a laugh at my incredulous expression. “Don’t look so surprised. If you had a purse, you’d have bobby pins stashed, too. Now, hold still and let me fix your shit.”

Shock roots me in place as he carefully fixes my hair, securing it with half a dozen bobby pins. He leans back and nods. “Better.”

“Eros.” I gently touch my hair again. “Since when do you do hair?”

He shrugs. “I can’t do more than damage control, but it saves Psyche some trouble when we’re out if I can help like this.”

Gods, he’s so in love it makes me sick. I’m happy for him. Truly, I am. But I can’t help the jealousy that curls through me. It’s not about Eros—he’s more brother to me than anything else—but at the intimacy and trust he shares with his wife. The one time I thought I might have that, it blew up in my face, and I still wear the emotional scars from the fallout.

I manage a smile, though. “Thanks.”

“Knock ’em dead, Helen.” His grin is sharp enough to cut. “I’ll be rooting for you.”

I drag in a slow breath and turn for the door. Since I’m late, I might as well make an entrance. I straighten my spine and push both doors open with more force than necessary. People scatter as I step into the room. I pause, letting them look at me and taking them in at the same time.

This room has changed since Perseus inherited the title of Zeus. Oh, the space is still functionally the same. Shining white marble floors that I can barely see beneath the crowd, an arching ceiling that gives the impression of the ballroom being even larger than it is, the massive windows and glass doors that lead out to the balcony on the other side of the room. But it still feels different. The walls used to be cream, but now they’re a cool gray. A subtle change, but it makes a difference.

Most notably, the larger-than-life portraits of the Thirteen that line the walls have different frames. Gone are the thick gold frames that my father favored, replaced by finely crafted black. I would have to get closer to verify, but each looks like they might be custom, unique to each member of the Thirteen.

Perseus didn’t make these changes, either. I’m certain of it. Our father might have been obsessive about his image, but my brother doesn’t give a fuck. Even when he should.

I start through the crowd, holding my head high.

Normally, I can identify every single person who attends a Dodona Tower party. Information is everything, and I learned from a very young age that it’s the only weapon I’m allowed. Some people meet my gaze, others stare at my body in a way that makes my skin crawl, and still others all but turn their backs on me. No surprises there. Being a Kasios in Olympus might have its perks, but it means being born into generations-old grudges and politicking. I grew up learning who could be trusted—no one—and who would actually shove me into traffic if given half a chance—more people than is comforting.

But this party isn’t a regular one, and tonight is not a regular night. Nearly half the faces are new to me, people who have arrived from the outskirts around Olympus or been ferried into the city by Poseidon for this special occasion. I don’t stop moving to memorize faces. Not everyone here will be nominating themselves as champions; plenty of them are just like the majority of the people here from Olympus. Hangers-on. They don’t matter.

I don’t pick up my pace, moving at a steady stalk that forces people to get out of my way. The crowd parts for me just like I know it will, whispers following in my wake. I’m making a scene, and while half of them love me for it, the rest resent me.

Everyone has pulled out all the stops tonight. In one corner, my sister Eris—Aphrodite, as of three months ago—is laughing at something with Hermes and Dionysus. My chest gives a pang. I would like nothing more than to be with them now, just like I am at every other party. My sister and my friends are what makes living in Olympus bearable, but the last few months have driven home the new differences between us. It wasn’t so noticeable when Eris was still Eris, but now that she’s also one of the Thirteen…

I’m getting left behind. Being sister to Zeus and Aphrodite, friend to Hermes and Dionysus? It doesn’t mean shit. I’m still a piece to be moved around on someone else’s board.

Becoming Ares is my only opportunity to change that.

I catch sight of the Dimitriou clan in the opposite corner, Demeter with three of her four daughters, as well as Hades, husband to Persephone. Like everyone else, they’re dressed to perfection. The fact that Hades and Persephone are here only spotlights the importance of what’s to come. Every member of the Thirteen is present to stand witness to the ceremonial announcement of the tournament to replace Ares. Eros appears at his wife’s side, and the way her face lights up at the sight of him… I turn away.

The throne is my destination.

Well, the pair of thrones—two more changes our shift in leadership has caused. Gone is the gaudy gold monstrosity our father used to love, replaced with a steel sculpture that’s attractive but oh so cold. Kind of like Perseus himself.

The second throne is a daintier version of his. Callisto Dimitriou sits on it, a beautiful white woman with long dark hair dressed in an elegant black gown. She’s staring at everyone gathered below her as if she’d like to shove each one of us through the huge glass doors that have been opened to let in the balmy June evening air. I doubt she’d stop there, though. More likely, she’d love to see us tossed right over the balcony.

Why my brother chose her to be his wife, to become Hera, is a mystery to everyone in Olympus. They certainly don’t seem to like each other. Their marriage reeks of Demeter’s meddling, but no matter how I dig or pry, I’ve never been able to find a proper answer. I suppose it doesn’t matter why Perseus married her, only that he did.

I drop into a quick curtsy that almost manages to be polite. “Zeus. Hera.”

My brother leans forward and narrows a cold look in my direction. While Eris and I take after our mother’s coloring, Perseus is all our father. Blond hair, blue eyes, pale skin, and a ruggedly attractive face. If he put any effort behind it at all, he’d be good-looking enough to charm the whole room. Unfortunately, my brother never excelled at that type of skill the same way the rest of my family does.

Not Hercules. He was as bad at playing the game as Perseus.

I shove the thought away. There’s no use thinking about Hercules, either. He’s gone, and as far as most of Olympus is concerned, he might as well be dead. No, that’s not right. People talk about the dead. They pretend Hercules never existed in the first place. I miss him nearly as much as I miss my mother.

“You’re late.” Perseus doesn’t lift his voice, but he doesn’t have to. The people nearest us have gone quiet, tense with the possibility of seeing Kasios family drama play out. I can’t resent them for that. I’ve given them plenty of fodder for gossip over my thirty years.

“Sorry.” I even mean it. “Time got away from me.” The temptation to overprepare isn’t usually one I fall victim to, but there’s nothing usual about this situation.

Perseus shakes his head slightly, his gaze tracking the rest of the room. “I’m making the announcement soon. Don’t wander off.”

I bristle, but there’s no point in taking it personally. Perseus talks to everyone as though they’re a small child or a dog; he has since we were little. I might understand that it’s just the way he is, but his preferred method of communication is already breeding resentment among Olympus’s elite.

That’s not my problem, though. Not tonight. I give him a bright smile. “Of course, dear brother. I wouldn’t dream of it.” After the announcement, people will have a chance to put their names forward to become champions, which will enter them into the tournament for Ares’s title. The window to put a name forward doesn’t technically close until dawn, but from what I understand, it’s rare for there to be latecomers, so I want to make sure I’m on hand to get my name in before anyone can think to stop me.

I turn to study the room, though I can feel my brother watching me. Probably worried I’m going to embarrass him further. Another night, I might even see that as a challenge, but right now, I have my eyes on the prize. I will not be diverted.

After tonight, everyone will know that I’m a force to be reckoned with.

It doesn’t take long for the rest of the Thirteen to drift over, taking up positions on either side of my brother and Callisto—Hera. She looks bored with this whole process, but she’s the only one. A current of excitement surges through the room. I know Perseus just wants stability for Olympus, but this fanfare will be more than that for the city. It will give them something to cheer for, an event to raise civilian morale—something that has wavered recently.

The Thirteen might rule Olympus, but ultimately they are only a handful of people. Without the support of the greater population, that power is in name only. There has only been an uprising once in our history, a few generations back after a war between the Thirteen decimated the city, but it was brutal enough for us to know we never want it to happen again.

Things work best when the current members of the Thirteen play the celebrity game. When someone takes over a new title, they decide how they want to craft their image and run with it. Some—like Demeter, the last Aphrodite, Hermes, and Dionysus—go hard, using public opinion to further their respective goals. Poseidon and Hades have never played the game, though. Hades by virtue of no one on this side of the river knowing he existed until recently. Poseidon because he garners enough goodwill by being one of the few who can come and go across the barrier that surrounds Olympus freely, which means he imports anything industry in the city can’t create for itself.

A bunch of new members of the Thirteen in a short time means uncertainty, and in uncertain times, anything is possible. Even revolution.

My brother will do anything to ensure that doesn’t happen.

The crowd presses closer, and I angle myself away from the front of it, shifting close to where Dionysus stands. He’s a white man about my age with short dark hair and a truly impressive mustache that he’s grown out just enough to curve it up at either side of his mouth. It should look ridiculous, but it’s Dionysus. He makes ridiculous an artistic statement, from his peppy attitude to his brightly colored suit. He grins at me. “Ready for this?”

My stomach is twisted into half a million knots, but I smile back. “Of course. There’s bound to be drama, and you know how I love that.” I will be the drama shortly.

A light over Perseus brightens as the camera crew takes up positions across from him. This event will be broadcast to the greater city, which means the impressions champions make, starting now, are vital. Ares doesn’t technically need civilian support to do their job, but being popular with the citizens helps smooth the way.

My brother straightens to his feet. He doesn’t have the commanding presence our father did, but he does have the ability to make it seem like he’s looking right into a person’s soul. He uses that now, his icy gaze shifting over the people gathered before landing on me. Something flares there, something I don’t recognize, but he moves on before I can identify it.

“You all know why we’re here.” He doesn’t raise his voice, but he doesn’t have to. My siblings and I were trained to speak in public from a very young age. To be perfect symbols of our perfect family line. “We’re here to honor the passing of Ares. He served the title for nearly sixty years, and he’s gone far too soon.” Nice words. Meaningless words. The last Ares was, quite frankly, a dick.

Perseus turns to the other part of the room. “Tonight, we begin the process of finding our next Ares. Tradition states that three trials will be issued, the first of which you’ll know in two days’ time. The winner of the three challenges will become the next Ares.” A weighted pause. Again, that strange look passes over his face.

It’s the only warning I get.

Perseus looks at me, something akin to sympathy in his blue eyes as he seals my fate. “And marry my sister Helen.”

Achilles

“Told you so,” Patroclus murmurs.

I don’t have to look at him to know what he’s thinking. I always know what he’s thinking. Namely, too damn much. At least the fawning groupies that descended the moment we walked through the door earlier have dispersed now that the show is underway. It’s a relief; I can turn the charm on when it suits me, but this shit is exhausting.

The last Ares never worried about playing to the public. He was a right old bastard, and he didn’t care if everyone knew it. I don’t know if he started out that way when he took the title, but by the end, everyone hated him. Even his own people.

It’s not how Athena operates, and I learned everything of value I know from her. Better to use honey than vinegar, better to get someone to do what you want with a little manipulation than by bashing them over the head with whatever weapon is closest at hand. Ares could have used a few of her lessons, but he was the type of guy who put himself on a path and didn’t deviate.

Things are going to change when I’m in charge.

Zeus is still talking, spinning a whole lot of bullshit about tradition. Olympus is up to its tits in tradition. It’s their excuse for everything, a line of reasoning that conveniently takes the responsibility from the people actually doing the actions.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “You don’t need to say it, though. I was already hearing the I-told-you-so loud and clear.” Patroclus had been sure the title would come with a wife. It’s been a long time since this title passed over, so I had my doubts, but one of Patroclus’s many skills is gathering all the available information and running scenarios until he finds the most likely one. It makes him irritating as fuck to be around sometimes, but he’s brilliant.

I glance around the room. No one seems particularly surprised by the announcement, so either they did their research like Patroclus or they have excellent poker faces.

He moves closer, pressing his shoulder to mine. He’s frowning, that big brain of his working overtime. “I didn’t expect it to be Helen, though. I didn’t expect Aphrodite to choose her.”

“Yeah.” Even though I know better, my gaze tracks to the white woman standing in an empty circle, as if the people around her inched away to avoid being associated with what happens next. I can only see her profile, but it’s enough.

To call Helen beautiful is the understatement of the century. She’s flawless, the kind of perfect that only comes around once a generation. Her whole family is full of attractive bastards, but she’s on another level entirely. She’s also a reckless party girl whose exploits are constantly splashed across the gossip sites. She doesn’t follow the same rules as the rest of us. She’s never gone hungry or had to fight for anything.

The woman is a princess in a tower, and what’s a princess good for except bait?

She shifts, the subtlest squaring of her shoulders. When she turns to face the room, she looks happy…as long as one doesn’t stare into her amber eyes. They’re as cold as Zeus’s. She gives the room a little finger wave. “Lucky you.”

A scattering of laughs. Neither I nor Patroclus make a sound. I glance at him. He’s a few inches taller than me and built naturally leaner. Tonight, he’s wearing the glasses I like so much and a suit that I can’t help wanting to rumple. The man is always so fucking put together. Nothing fazes him, because before he takes action, he’s already run half a dozen scenarios. Surprising him is damn near impossible.

Still. “You sure about this?” I murmur. He may have expected a wife to be offered as part of the tradition, but Helen complicates things. Might as well get into bed with a snake and pray it doesn’t sink its fangs into you. It will bite. That’s what snakes do. The woman is loyal to her family and her family alone. Being married to her means every interaction, both in and outside our home, will be a battlefield. She’s a Kasios. She can’t be trusted.

“This is the only way.”

He’s right. I don’t know why I’m even questioning it. This is what I’ve wanted since I was old enough to realize the only thing people in Olympus respect is power. Getting a taste of it as I climbed the ranks beneath Athena? Yeah, I’m willing to sacrifice a whole lot to get that title. “Then we move forward with the plan.”

He glances at me, handsome face completely calm, and gives a subtle nod. Patroclus never wanted to lead, let alone claim a spot as one of the Thirteen, but he’s going to put his name forward so he can help me win it. This was the plan from the moment I decided on Ares. The first two trials are designed to whittle down the champions until only five remain for the final one. Alliances aren’t unheard of, but I’m not willing to wager my success on the unknown. Which is where Patroclus comes in. He’ll provide any assistance necessary to ensure I reach the final trial. I’m reasonably certain I could do it on my own, but he insisted.

Truth be told, I didn’t protest that hard. Patroclus has been at my side since we met at eighteen. We’ve hit every major milestone since then as a pair. It would feel wrong to compete and win the title of Ares without him watching my back.

Still. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. Stop trying to give me an out. I’m competing. End of story.” He turns back to study the crowd. “I have files on every single possible champion from Olympus. You’re the best. With me at your side, your win is all but guaranteed.”

My win. Becoming Ares. Marrying Helen. Patroclus and I have an unconventional relationship, at least according to some, but I keep waiting for the idea of me being married to someone else to bother him. It sure as fuck would bother me if he married someone else. But he’s as unruffled as always. It drives me up the wall. “Marrying Helen Kasios is going to be a giant pain in the ass.”

He gives me another of those censoring looks. “Ares.”

As if he needs to remind me. I’d marry a literal fucking harpy if it meant becoming one of the Thirteen. Unfortunately, Helen Kasios isn’t far off from that. She’s a spoiled brat who’s always gotten her way, and even through her lying smile, I can see she’s furious about this development. She’ll make whoever wins this thing regret it, probably for the rest of their lives. That’s not even getting into the fact that any information she gleans from me will be fed right back to Zeus.

It’s a smart play on his part. Worthy of a plan Patroclus would put together. Ultimately, though, it doesn’t matter. I will become Ares. I’ll deal with all the other shit once the title is mine.

Movement on my other side makes me glance over. Paris. He’s a lean white dude who obviously spends a shit ton of money on his appearance. It’s there in the smoothness of his skin, in how perfectly styled his blond hair is. Too bad money can’t buy a good personality; Paris is a fucking asshole. All the good-person genes in his family went to his older brother, Hector.

Hector, I like and respect.

Paris is looking at Helen like she’s a piece of meat he can’t wait to consume. I don’t make a habit of paying too much attention to the gossip sites, but Paris and Helen’s breakup was nasty enough to make headlines for weeks. Now the little shit is practically rubbing his hands together with glee.

He glances at me and grins. “Sorry, man, but she’s mine. She can’t say no if I become Ares and marry her.”

Hector steps forward on his brother’s other side and slaps him upside the back of his head with a familiarity that says he’s done it enough times for it to have become muscle memory. “Don’t be crude.” He nods at me. “Achilles.”

“Hector.” He used to head one of Ares’s squads, but after he got married and had a baby, he ended up transferring to work for another of the Thirteen, Apollo. I haven’t seen Hector much in the years since, but he was a formidable fighter when I knew him. “How’s the kid?”

“She takes after her mother.” He gives a small smile. “I thank the gods every day that she didn’t get my ugly mug.”

Hector is good-looking in a rugged sort of way with his sandy-blond hair and kind eyes, but he’s right; he won’t be winning any beauty contests anytime soon. I grin at him, completely ignoring Paris. “Surely you’re not going to fight? You already have a wife. I thought you were halfway to retired at this point.”

He shrugs. “Family.”

I nod as if I have any idea what he’s talking about. My only family is Patroclus and the squad we run together. My parents are mysteries. Apparently they didn’t want a kid, so they followed the old tradition of leaving the baby—me—on the temple steps. I grew up in one of the orphanages that’s run in Hera’s name, but I don’t think an actual Hera has set foot in them since before I was born. At eighteen, I got a choice of working for Ares, Poseidon, or Demeter. Really, it wasn’t much of a choice at all. I was a grunt for Ares for a few years before Athena plucked me out of obscurity and showed me what greatness can be.

I was always destined for this.

“Now, it’s time for those who would be Ares to step forward.”

Zeus steps back and motions to the tall Black woman at his side. She’s wearing a suit instead of a gown, the pale gray setting off her warm brown skin, her black hair cut short on the sides with the curls longer on the top. Athena.

She surveys the room as if measuring every person’s weaknesses. Knowing her, that’s exactly what she’s done. “Once you put your name forward, the only way out is elimination or resignation. While these trials aren’t meant to be to the death…accidents happen. Be willing to sacrifice it all.”

Paris ducks from under Hector’s hand and moves forward. “I’m Paris Chloros. I will sacrifice it all.”

I can’t help it. I glance at Helen to see her reaction. Her pale skin has gone a little green as she glares at her ex. Paris winks at her as if he can’t see the murder in her eyes. If he wins Ares, I don’t like his chances of surviving the wedding night.

It won’t be a problem, because Paris isn’t even a contender. The bigger worry is Hector, who steps forward and repeats the traditional phrase. Ajax—another of the former Ares commanders and someone I consider a friend—is next. Then a Black woman with locs pulled back from her scarred face. Her name is Atalanta, and she’s light enough on her feet that I already know she’ll be quick as fuck.

Person after person comes forward in an endless stream. I note the ones Patroclus expected and the ones he didn’t. None of them matter. There are a few actual contenders but mostly they’re people from the elite families that move in the extended circles of the Thirteen. They’ll attempt the tournament because they can’t afford to ignore a chance to take the title, but they aren’t true threats.

A wave of murmurs rises behind me, and I glance over my shoulder as two men stalk through the crowd, people practically scrambling over one another to get out of their way. They have similar coloring—medium-brown skin, dark-red hair, dark eyes—and are both even larger than I am. “Big bastards,” I murmur.

The taller of the two gives me a look that’s eerily empty as they pass by. The entire room has gone silent, probably sensing the same thing I do—these are true predators in our midst. Even more importantly, they’re strangers.

The shorter of the two steps forward first with a showy bow. “I’m Theseus Vitalis, and I’m willing to sacrifice it all.”

Athena raises a brow. “New in town?”

“It’s within the parameters of the competition.”

“I’m aware of the rules.” She glances at the taller one. “And you?”

“I’m the Minotaur.” His voice sounds like someone hacked open his vocal cords and then poured burning embers into the wound.

Athena gives him a sharp look. “That’s your name?”

“It serves its purpose.” He pauses barely long enough for her to nod before continuing. “I will sacrifice it all.”

“Dangerous,” Patroclus murmurs.

“Yeah.” I wait for them to move to the side before Patroclus and I step forward. I can’t help looking at Helen again as Patroclus speaks the words to become a champion. She’s doing a shit job of masking her expression, and I hate the sympathy that I feel in response. She obviously didn’t choose this. Fuck, she obviously didn’t know about it before Zeus made his announcement. This woman is nothing to me, but when I win the title Ares—and I will win—I’ll ensure she’s not mistreated. After the wedding, I don’t care what she does or who she fucks around with as long as she stays away from me and Patroclus. It’s a better deal than she’ll get from anyone else.

Then it’s my turn to speak, and I shove all thoughts of Helen effortlessly away. “I’m Achilles Kallis, and I’m willing to sacrifice it all.”

Athena doesn’t smile, but approval warms her dark eyes. It’s about as effusive as she gets, and it makes me feel a little strange in response. I’m not someone who needs outside approval for validation, but I respect the fuck out of Athena, and her opinion matters to me.

She waits several long moments, but no one else steps forward. She lifts her voice to be heard in every corner of the room. “The deadline for putting your name forward is dawn. Best of luck.”

The lights brighten slowly, signaling the end of the pageantry. The party will go on for hours, but our reason to be here is over. I turn to Patroclus. “Let’s go.”

For a second, it seems like he might argue, but finally he nods and turns with me for the door. People get out of our way. I’ve been to these kinds of parties a handful of times in the years since I was promoted to Athena’s second-in-command, but she prefers to keep her people out of the viper’s nest. Her words, not mine. I don’t see the big deal, but then I’m not one to be swayed by a pretty face or prettier words. I know my fate.

I hold the door open for Patroclus, and we exit into the long hallway leading to the elevator down. He’s got that look on his face, and I inwardly roll my eyes. “Tell me you’re not worried about that golden princess.”

“I feel bad for her.” He shrugs, completely unashamed of his bleeding heart. “It can’t be that comfortable being so close to so many members of the Thirteen. Her life was never her own, not even from birth.”

This time, I can’t stop myself from rolling my eyes. “Right. Poor little princess, born into the richest family in the city, having everything she could ever dream of at the tips of her fingers. She’s never had to fight for a single thing in her life. Not like me. Not like you.”

“That’s not entirely true, at least for me. If things had fallen out differently, I’d be Aphrodite’s son.”

“It’s different.”

“If you say so.” Another shrug. “I don’t have the same ambition you do, Achilles. Working for Athena is just a job for me. It always has been.”

I love the man, but sometimes I really don’t understand him. If you’re not fighting for something, you’re going to get used as a stepping-stone for the people who are. Patroclus is one of the most brilliant people I know, but he’s too soft. Without me to watch his back, he would have been fucked over dozens of times since we met each other as teenagers.

Then again, without me in his life, I don’t think he’d be in Athena’s special forces. With his love of knowledge and research, he might have gravitated to Apollo’s businesses the same way Hector did.

Something like guilt slaps me in the face, but I shove it away. When I’m Ares, Patroclus will be free to do whatever he damn well pleases. With that much power at my disposal, that many resources, he won’t have to work at all if he doesn’t want to.

I sling an arm around his shoulders and press a quick kiss to his temple. “Don’t worry so much. When I’m Ares, I’ll take care of both of us.” I grin. “Fuck, I’ll take care of Helen, too, if that will make you feel better.” Even if she is a spoiled brat.

Helen

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I dig my fingers into the fabric of my dress. It’s do that or punch my brother in his infuriatingly square jaw. No matter how satisfying it would be, I can’t risk injuring my hand. Not if I want to be Ares. Except how the fuck can I be Ares when Patroclus named me Ares’s wife? “You made me a prize to be won! Married off to a stranger! Without even talking to me.”

I managed to hold it together until the party wrapped up and a small group of us ended up in Perseus’s office—me, Perseus, Eris, and Callisto. Me, Zeus, Aphrodite, and Hera. Perseus sits behind his large desk, looking bored with my theatrics. Eris has one hip perched on the desk and is smiling in a way I really don’t like. I love my siblings. I do. But I can never forget that they’re focused on power and ambition before all else. They always have been, even before they became members of the Thirteen. It’s how we were raised, after all.

The only exception was Hercules, and look what happened to him.

Callisto stands in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, seeming to be totally checked out of the conversation. Or argument, more accurately.

Eris examines her nails. “It’s tradition for a wife to be part of Ares taking the title.”

Somehow, in all my preparation, I missed that little detail. I was so focused on what the trials could be that I never bothered to look into the rest. The last Ares had several wives over the course of his time holding the title. It never occurred to me that one of them was the result of him gaining the title itself. “That’s no excuse. You could have chosen someone else. You should have chosen anyone else. Why did it have to be me?”

Perseus steeples his hands before his mouth. “Because you’re a Kasios.”

I flinch. I didn’t ask to be born into this family. I didn’t ask for the consequences I’ve lived with my entire life. “So I’m going to be punished for having our father’s blood in my veins?”

“Stop being dramatic, Helen.”

I hate how patronizing he sounds right now. “No, fuck you. You don’t know what it’s like—”

He pushes slowly to his feet, cutting me off. “I don’t know what it’s like to… What exactly? Sacrifice in the name of the Thirteen? Marry a stranger for the sake of a greater good?” He doesn’t look at Callisto. “I’m not asking anything of you that I haven’t already done myself.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” I finally manage.

“Don’t be a child. You’re not special. None of us asked for this.” He turns for the door. “You were always going to be married off in a power match. You know this.”

Honestly, it’s a minor miracle that I’ve avoided it to this point. My father thought to break me before offering me up as a pawn to someone else, which is the only reason I haven’t had a ring shoved on my finger and been carted down the aisle. But I didn’t expect it from Perseus.

Silly me.

Of course my brother would never let a little thing like my happiness get in the way of his bottom line. Our father taught him too well. He taught all of us too well. Even Zeus, with his petty cruelty, protected Olympus in his own way. No one could protect Olympus from him, but at least we didn’t have to worry about outside enemies with him on the throne. “But—”

“The Thirteen are too fractured, and with the changeovers, that’s causing unrest. I will bring them all to heel, one by one, no matter what it takes. You will do your part by influencing Ares to my side. Exactly like you were taught to.”

The side effect of being destined for a political marriage? It wouldn’t stop being political the moment I said “I do.” I will be walking a tightrope between my spouse and my family, and gods know my family might not be perfect, but they still have my loyalty. No matter how much it kills me to do what’s required. Which means there’s only one answer available to me. “I understand.”

“Good.” He turns and pins me with a cold look. “You will be there tomorrow during the opening ceremony, and you will sit next to Athena in a pretty dress and inspire the candidates to greatness. They need to put on a show for the ages, and I need your help doing it. It’s your duty, Helen. You haven’t forgotten the price of the life we live, have you?”

Shame lances me and it’s everything I can do not to bow my shoulders. No matter how awful it’s been growing up as one of Zeus’s children, the fact remains that when it came to having my material needs met, I wanted for nothing. The best schools, the best clothing, a home in the upper city, moving through the circles of the rich and powerful. All of it was because of the family I was born into.

But, as my brother likes to remind me, there is a price to be paid.

Perseus is right in a way; he’s not asking me for anything he’s not willing to do himself. He married one of Demeter’s daughters, after all. No matter my bitching, even I can recognize that alliance as valuable, even if I don’t fully understand why it had to be Callisto. Of all of us, he’s most aware of the horrifying legacy we carry in our blood, of the sins our father committed while he was Zeus. Perseus is already going out of his way to ensure he follows a different path. He might aggravate me in the extreme, but I can respect that about him.

But…

I don’t want this responsibility. I didn’t choose this.

It doesn’t matter. I lift my chin, blinking past the burning in my eyes. I am a Kasios and Kasioses don’t cry. “I’ll do my duty.” What are my other options? Run? The idea is laughable. The only way out of Olympus is at Poseidon’s hand, and there’s no way he’ll help me. He doesn’t like me, but more than that, he knows how valuable I am to this whole plan. Helping me means alienating Zeus, Aphrodite, and the next Ares, all in one single action. Probably Demeter, too, though that one isn’t guaranteed. Perseus is too measured to do anything so reckless.

“Do I need to put one of Athena’s people on you?”

I draw myself up. “Absolutely not.”

“Fine. Don’t make me regret this decision.” He nods and then he’s gone, leaving me alone with Eris.

Eris pushes off the desk. She’s wearing a slinky gunmetal-silver gown and has her long dark hair pulled back in a complicated series of twists. “I know this isn’t ideal, but he’s right. A new Ares means we’re introducing a wild card into the Thirteen. We need you to pave the way to secure a new Zeus-Ares alliance.”

I love my sister. A lot. But that doesn’t change the fact that like everyone else in my family, she’s out for Olympus first, herself second, and everyone else dead last. Family might rank higher than the greater Olympian population, but not by much. She loves me. She’s just not one to let that get in the way of decisive action—and stirring the pot every chance she gets. “You could have chosen someone else. Anyone else.”

She shrugs, a small smile pulling at the edges of her lips. “You’ll come out on top, Helen. You always do.”

I tilt my head back and stare at the ceiling. “That was quite the backhanded compliment.” My voice is high and tight. I have too much control to throw a fit over this turn of events, but I want nothing more than to throw something at my sister’s smug face. “I’m very angry at you right now.”

“You’ll get over it. It’s dog-eat-dog in this city, especially among the Thirteen. You know that.”

“Yeah, well, I would have secured an airtight Zeus-Ares alliance if you’d let me become the next Ares.”

She jolts like I’ve surprised her. “You can’t really mean you considered stepping forward as a candidate. I thought you gave up that ridiculousness when we were still children.”

It shouldn’t hurt so much that my sister doesn’t take me seriously. Of everyone, I’d think she’d realize my ambitions go more than skin deep. Apparently I was wrong. “I never gave it up.”

She gives a tight smile. “Honey, I know you mean well, but look at the champions. Achilles, Hector, Atalanta, those two strangers. They’re huge and they practically sweat violence. That’s not even getting into the other thirty-odd people who put their names forward. You’re…” She hesitates. “You’re capable, but you’re no warrior, Helen. There’s no way you could win.”

Somehow, this is worse than the fact she hadn’t taken my ambitions seriously. She honestly doesn’t think I could do it. My chest tries to close, and only years of practice keep me from buckling. “I would have won.”

“I guess we’ll never know now.” Eris presses her lips together, looking almost apologetic in a way she wasn’t when she effectively sold me in marriage without asking first. “I’m sorry, Helen. Truly, I am. But you know how it goes. Olympus comes first. Sometimes that demands sacrifice.”

“Keep telling yourself that. You’re not sacrificing a single damn thing.” I’m so angry, I’m shaking. The temptation to let the rage out here, when it’s just family in this room, is almost too strong to ignore. It’s been many years since I brawled with Eris; the last time was when we were teenagers. It would feel so damn good to let off some of this horrible feeling inside me. The betrayal lies thick on my tongue, threatening to choke out everything else.

“Don’t make that face. It’s going to give you wrinkles. This will work out, Helen. Trust us.” She turns and strides out of the office. Eris always did like to leave arguments unfinished.

It’s so damn naive of me to believe my siblings would treat me differently than my father intended to. Helen Kasios, princess of Olympus, destined to marry someone who will bring more power to her family—as if they need it. “Damn it.” I force my hands to unclench the folds of my dress. “I wanted the title so fucking bad.”

“Why not do it anyway?” Callisto’s voice comes from the shadows, low and almost seductive.

I jolt and spin around, my heart racing. I’d completely forgotten she was in the room with us. She melts out of the shadows near the window where she’d been standing, near invisible. In her black dress with her dark hair, she looks like some creature of the night who wandered into this office by accident. I still can’t believe my brother married her. I understand wanting to settle Demeter and her significant power firmly on his side, but surely Eurydice would have been a better choice. She’s so much sweeter; marrying her would mean a much less tumultuous life.

Then again, Olympus would eat Eurydice alive if she became Hera.

“I can’t do it anyway. That’s not how things work.”

“Isn’t it?” Callisto examines her nails. “I’m a fan of asking for forgiveness instead of permission. That’s what your brother did, after all. Why not give him a taste of his own medicine?”

I stare. “You’re trying to cause trouble.”

“Olympus is nothing but trouble.” Something dangerous shifts through her tone. She’s not entirely wrong, but that doesn’t mean she’s right, either. Her mother, Demeter, won the title and brought her daughters into the city proper a little over ten years ago. In that time, Callisto has made her derision of everything connected with the Thirteen known. Before she married my brother, she didn’t show up for parties. She didn’t play the game. She was always willing to step to the line and fight, no matter the opponent.

Now that she’s officially become Hera, I don’t know what to make of her.

I cross my arms over my chest and try to calm my racing heart. No matter how dangerous she seems, she’s just a woman, and I’ve been playing this game longer than she’s been in the city proper. I inject some false cheer into my voice. “It’s really sweet that you’re trying to be a supportive sister-in-law, but I am not about to become a pawn in whatever game you and my brother have going on.”

Callisto gives me a long look, her hazel eyes downright predatory. “This has nothing to do with your brother.”

“Lovely. Now I have some snake oil I’d love to sell you. It’s great for the skin. Practically a fountain of youth.”

Her lips curve. “Regardless of my motivations, we’re talking about you. Is there some rule that says you can’t be both prize and champion?”

I consider her. Despite my better instincts, I’m thinking her words through. “I’d have to check, but probably not. They don’t have a rule against it because I doubt it would have occurred to anyone to even attempt it.” I hate to lend any strength to Eris’s doubt in me, but… “You’ve seen the people who stepped forward. That’s a lot to combat.”

Callisto shrugs. “If you were planning on making an attempt for Ares, you already intended to fight them and come out on top.”

She’s not wrong, but it still sounds like a trap. It’s just…I’m not sure I care. If I compete and win, I knock out two birds with one stone. I become Ares and successfully dodge being married to someone I don’t know. Despite myself, I picture Paris’s smarmy face leering at me as he stepped forward earlier. Or being married to that man. I dodged that fate once and I’m determined to do it again.

Still, one thing doesn’t add up. I carefully wrap up my growing excitement and inject coolness into my tone. “Again, what do you have to gain from suggesting I do this?”

Another shrug. “Maybe I have a thing against people being forced into marriages they didn’t choose. Maybe I want to live vicariously through you because I would have competed to be Ares if I weren’t already Hera. Maybe I want to stick it to my lovely husband in any way I can. My reasonings really don’t matter, do they?” Again, that predator’s smile. “You want to compete, Helen? Do it. All those fuckers who think you’re just a pretty prize to be won? Prove them wrong.”

It feels like she fired an arrow right into the very heart of me. I can’t trust this woman, sister-in-law or no. But…that doesn’t mean her idea is without merit. “You really hate my brother, don’t you?”

“I hate all of the Thirteen.”

“You are one of the Thirteen.” Even if Hera has become a weakened title since my father became Zeus. Over the course of his three wives—three Heras—he stripped the title of what influence it had until it became nothing more than an empty term for Zeus’s spouse.

“Yes. I am.”

The door opens and Perseus steps back into the room. His gaze jumps from me to his wife and back again. “There you are.”

Her smile is downright poisonous. “Just having some girl talk with Helen.”

He doesn’t comment on that, which is just as well. “It’s time to leave, Hera.”

“Of course, Zeus.” The words seem polite enough, but fury lurks in their edges. She turns to me. “Congratulations on your pending nuptials, Helen. I’m sure you’ll make a lovely piece of arm candy for the next Ares.”

I watch her stalk across the room toward my brother, and the small hairs at the back of my neck rise. This woman is more predator than most of the Thirteen, and I can’t shake the feeling that Perseus is going to greatly regret marrying her. For his part, he turns easily and places his hand at the small of her back. Always worried about appearances, my brother, even when no one else is here to witness the lie except me.

I follow them out of the office, and we take the elevator down to the parking garage. Only when we’ve walked well out of hearing range of the guard near the door does Perseus speak. “Do not, under any circumstances, take action to endanger this process. Promise me, Helen.”

Damn him for throwing this curveball at me and then demanding I promise good behavior. Damn his wife for using clever words to poke holes in my already shaky determination to do what my family asks of me. I shake my head slowly. “You know, you really do take after our father.”

He flinches, a barely perceptible movement that instantly has guilt surging through me. It was a low blow, and I did it intentionally to hurt him. I never mean to be a bitch, but sometimes the thorns inside me squeeze too tightly and horrible things burst from my lips. Words meant to strike to the very heart of a person.

Perseus nudges Callisto toward his SUV, and I wonder again that he touches her so easily, as if he’s not worried about losing a hand. Surely he sees the sharp look she sends in his direction every time he gets too close?

He waits for her to climb into the passenger seat before turning to me. “I deserved that, but it changes nothing. Promise me, Helen.”

“I promise,” I lie without hesitation. I don’t even feel guilty while doing it. It’s practically a love language in our family.

He searches my face, the cold thawing for the barest instant. “Whoever becomes Ares will treat you well. I’ll ensure it.”

I laugh bitterly. “How? Are you going to set up surveillance to ensure my spouse doesn’t abuse me? Please.”

“Yes.”

He’s…not joking. I stare. “And then what, Perseus? What will you do if you sentenced me to be married to a monster?”

“It won’t come to that. You’re too savvy, and most of the champions recognize that harming you would alienate a good portion of the Thirteen.”

Surely my ambitious, ruthless brother can’t be this naive. “Most, but not all.”

“The unknowns won’t win, Helen.”

No, they won’t. Because I’m going to. The resolution takes root in my chest, steadying me. I’m going to be Ares. Still, I can’t help pressing. I don’t know what I’m looking for. Reassurance. Comfort. Something. I’m a fool. “What if one of the unknowns wins? What if Paris wins?”

“They won’t harm you. If they do?” My brother turns for the SUV. “I’ll make you a widow.”

Patroclus

I leave Achilles asleep in our apartment and make my way to Athena’s headquarters on foot. She likes to keep a low profile, occupying an older building in the northeast part of the upper city, just south of the docks and near the coast. It’s far enough from Zeus’s glittering city center that the buildings have more character, deviating from the steel and glass and concrete look that the blocks surrounding Dodona Tower favor.

There’s not long until the deadline closes to put forth a name as champion. I expect most of the major players have already shown their faces, but I don’t like being surprised. Dawn is a few hours off, and if anyone is going to be a late addition, they’ll do it now, under the cover of darkness.

Historically, the three trials are more physical in nature, but the advantage of a surprise contender cannot be overstated. In order to ensure Achilles wins, I have to consider all variables and plan around them. Which is why I’m here instead of in the warm bed beside him.

Trees line this street at regular intervals, tall oaks that create a pleasant coolness in the early summer heat, even at this hour. I step into the shadows offered by one with a clear view of the entrance to Athena’s building and settle in to wait.

I hear the person before I see them. Heels clicking sharply against the sidewalk, quick and pointed enough to convey a deep anger. I slide deeper into the shadows and angle myself to look for the source.

Surprise flares when I recognize the golden dress, glimmering in the streetlights. I can’t see Helen’s face clearly from here, but the determination in the set of her shoulders speaks for itself. She’d do the same thing when we were kids on the playground, throw back her shoulders before charging into a confrontation.

The stakes were so much lower then.

I half convince myself it’s a coincidence that she’s on this street, moving in this direction, until she yanks open the door to Athena’s building and strides inside.

I’m good at strategy. I might even be the best in Olympus. I theorized Helen would be picked as the bride of the next Ares before it was announced because the data supported that outcome. I knew Paris and Hector would step forward for the same reason. I even projected that there would be a few non-Olympians in the bunch, though I haven’t had a chance to dig into the few who showed up.

I did not anticipate this.

Helen means to compete for the title of Ares? The very idea is ludicrous, though as I mentally flip through the histories I read on the subject, I don’t think there is any rule against it. It’s simply never been done before. There is no precedent.

What happens if she dies in one of the trials? Champions get killed from time to time, though it’s the exception rather than the rule. Zeus is hardly going to be able to switch out spouses as prizes on a whim. Even if he could and the Thirteen, the public, and the champions would stand for it… The very idea is laughable. Who can compare to Helen Kasios when it comes to connections and beauty? No one.

It will be a disaster no matter which way I look at it.

I’m so busy thinking that I don’t hear her exit. I don’t even notice Helen until she’s standing right in front of me, an arch in her perfect eyebrow. “You never used to be sneaky.”

“The last time you saw me, I was eight. People change.” Except, now that I’m thinking of it, Helen always was the first to act against type back then. A cute little girl in a spotless sundress…who had no problem bloodying bullies’ noses and making them cry.

“Some people change.” She shrugged. “Either way, spying is beneath you, Patroclus.”

We might have been friends as kids, at least until my mothers moved our family out of the city center when I was in third grade, but I haven’t seen much of Helen since then. In hindsight, she was a cute kid, but she’s always been a goddess to me. She’s the one who befriended my awkward younger self and stopped the other kids from teasing me about my glasses. I missed her after I moved away, but those memories faded as time went on.

As an adult, I feel her beauty like an assault. In the night, with only the streetlights kissing her high cheekbones and full lips, she looks downright otherworldly. I might have considered her a goddess back then, but she truly looks it now.

“I’m not spying,” I manage. My words come out a little hoarse, but fuck, she surprised me. I glance at her feet and frown. “Where are your shoes?”

“I saw you lurking out here and wanted a word.” She holds up heels that are high enough to make my feet hurt in sympathy. “I figured you would bolt if you heard me coming.”

“I’m one of Athena’s people. I would not bolt to avoid talking to you.”

Her lips curve. “Guess people do change, after all.”

My skin heats. “I’m surprised you remember me.” I don’t know why I say it. I honestly don’t. She’s Helen Kasios. She might have been kind to me when we were eight, but that was a long time ago.

Her smile disappears. “We were friends, Patroclus. Of course I didn’t forget about you. I missed you after you were gone.”

I can’t read her tone. She sounds almost stung, but I must be imagining it. “What are you doing here?” I know the answer, but I want to hear her admit it.

“I thought you and I could have a little conversation.”

“We have nothing to talk about.” Especially if we’re about to both be competitors for Ares. I have no intention of winning. It was never the goal when I put my name forward. But by watching Achilles’s back, I can ensure he makes it to the final round and wins. The best-case scenario, of course, is that we’re the two last standing and then I’ll step down, but in looking at the competitors, I’m not certain I’ll last that long. My strength is in strategy, but I lack a fundamental trait that Achilles and several of the other competitors have—a drive that propels them beyond what normal people can accomplish.

Frankly, I don’t like Helen’s odds, either. But being taken under Athena’s wing and learning from her brilliant mind means I know better than to take anything in Olympus at face value. Helen seems like a party girl who flits from event to event, a beautiful bird in a gilded cage. I can’t afford to assume that’s the truth.

I bet she still has a wicked right hook.

“Patroclus.” She says my name slowly, almost as if she’s tasting it. “You’re the only one who knows I’ve put my name in as a contender—aside from Athena, of course. I’d say we have more than a few things to talk about.”

Easy enough to catch her meaning. “You want me to keep it to myself.”

“Yes. At least until it’s announced in the opening ceremony tomorrow.”

I’m already shaking my head. “No. We might have been friends once, but that was a long time ago. I don’t wish you ill, but you’re not my priority in this tournament. Achilles is.”

She tilts her head to the side, and once again, her sheer beauty steals my breath. I love Achilles—I have since I was a teenager—but there’s something about Helen that hits me in a place logic can’t touch. She’s like some old-world queen who could inspire entire countries to go to war on her behalf.

She’s dangerous now.

She laughs, low and sinful. “What Achilles doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” The words almost sound like she’s trying to seduce me.

It worries me how hard it is to take a step away from her. My body fights my mind, which worries me even more. “I’m sorry, Helen, but I’m going to tell him.” I clear my throat. “Is that all?”

“Actually, one other thing.” She motions at my shoulder. “Would you mind?”

“Go ahead.” I hold perfectly still as she braces herself on my shoulder and slips on one shoe and then the other. Strange to realize how small she is. The last time she touched me like this, leaning on me to slip on her shoes, she was taller than I was. She’s got to be at least six inches shorter than my six three now; probably closer to nine because even with the ridiculous heels, she still has to look up to meet my gaze. Beyond that, she’s built lean enough that I would call her breakable.

“What are you thinking, entering this tournament?” I don’t mean to ask the question. What the fuck am I supposed to do with this strange surge of protectiveness? She’s not a kid in need of protection. Fuck, Helen never needed my protection. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter why she’s doing what she’s doing. The only thing that matters is how she’s complicated the possible scenarios moving forward. Her presence will affect things, and I have to consider how.

She tests the second heel and then straightens, running her hand absently down my chest. I feel the touch like a brand. For her part, Helen seems almost unaware of the effect she has on me. She glances down the street, her expression unreadable. “Are you happy, Patroclus? You’re not an accountant the way you wanted to be back then.” She snorts and shakes her head. “What eight-year-old wants to be an accountant?”

Fondness rises inside me, even as I try to fight it. Nothing good will come from revisiting this strange connection with Helen that I’d all but forgotten about until now. “And you’re not a pirate. Are you happy?”

Instead of answering, she fires back, “Do you ever get tired of standing in Achilles’s shadow?”

“No,” I answer instantly. “He’s too brash, too impulsive. He needs someone to anchor him.” Without me at his back, gods know where he would have ended up. Achilles is brilliant in his own way, but his priorities can be extremely skewed to the point where he doesn’t see—or care about—the full picture. He takes in what he feels is enough information to act and then acts. His drive and momentum are both terrifying and aggravating by equal measures.

“What about what you need?”

Logically, I know she’s not talking about me, not really. Still, I answer honestly. “I have everything I need.” It’s almost the truth. I truly am happy with what I have with Achilles. It’s not a traditional relationship by any means; we don’t bother to put labels on things and we’re not exclusive, though I don’t partake in others’ charms as often as Achilles does. I love him. He loves me. We’re both getting our needs met, at least for now. If I harbor a secret fear that someday I won’t be enough for him? Well, that’s no one’s business but my own.

I’m not about to confess as much to Helen, shared history or no.

“Lucky you,” she murmurs. For someone who’s been moving through the upper circles of Olympian politics, she’s got a terrible poker face. Or maybe the shadows are tricking me into seeing vulnerability where there is none.

“You seem to have everything you need.” I know better than to make assumptions. Achilles thinks he has Helen and her ilk figured out, but even if my mothers withdrew from the petty politics when I was in grade school, I still recognize that very few in the upper city are entirely honest about what they need and what they want. Doing so with the wrong people hands them a weapon perfectly designed to hurt you.

“Do I?” Helen pats my chest and takes a careful step back. “Well, I guess it’s true, then, since you say so.”

“Helen.” I don’t mean to say her name like that, low and stern.

She smiles, the expression more of sadness than joy. “Not everyone is as lucky as you are, Patroclus. Loving mothers who sacrificed their ambitions to give you a safe space to grow up in. A boyfriend who’s Athena’s second-in-command. A promising career within her special forces.”

“You seem to know a lot about me.”

She glances away and then back at me. “I might have checked up on you occasionally over the years. I guess you didn’t do the same.”

I don’t like the sad look on her face. I’m not the one who should be trying to lift it, though. Really, the thing I should be doing is getting out of this conversation as quickly as possible. Helen is too savvy to give me ammunition to use against her, and I can’t say the same about myself. Not when I’m reacting so strangely to her. “I didn’t have to check up on you. You’re in the headlines all the time.”

“I am, aren’t I?” She laughs a little, a tiny sound of amusement that’s gone far too soon. “I’m really going to give them something to talk about this time.”

“You won’t win.” I don’t say it to be cruel, but she flinches all the same. Still, I press on. “You might even die. It’s not too late. If you ask Athena to strike your name from the list, she will. No one has to know you entered in the first place.”

Helen gives me a bittersweet smile that makes my chest ache in response. “Some things are worth even the risk of death. Good luck, Patroclus. You have your hands full with that golden jackass.” She turns and strides back the way she came.

I don’t mean to move. I have a plan, after all, and that plan involves holding this position until dawn to ensure I know the identities of any champions who want to keep their identities secret until the opening ceremony. Or at least going back to Achilles and reporting this new development. But my body makes the decision for me, one step turning into two, turning into a jog that brings me even with Helen. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“That’s not necessary.”

Despite my longer legs, I have to concentrate to keep up with her quick pace. “The streets are safe enough in this neighborhood, but you’re Helen Kasios. Surely you realize you’re in more danger being out alone without a security detail than the average person.”

She gives me a strange look. “Isn’t it in your best interest to let a champion be eliminated before the tournament even starts?”

“No.” The word comes out too forcefully, but there’s no walking it back now. I make an effort to shrug the tightness out of my shoulders. “I don’t know what it’s like moving in the circles you do, but I don’t believe in acceptable losses. Not if they’re avoidable.”

“How precious of you.” She’s still watching me like I’m a strange new creature she’s never seen before. When she speaks again, her voice is almost gentle. “Patroclus, it’s really okay. If anyone is silly enough to jump me, I can take care of myself.” She holds up a tiny fist. “Once upon a time, I took care of you, too.”

I smile despite myself. “You were a terror on the playground.”

“Like I said.” She drops her fist. “I don’t need you to watch out for me.”

Maybe she doesn’t. She must be able to if she’s confident enough to enter the tournament. I can’t make myself leave her side, though. Not until she’s safe. “All the same. Consider it paying you back for punching Menalaus’s nose after he broke my glasses.”

She sighs. “I should have expected that being irritatingly stubborn is the one thing that hasn’t changed. You’d have to be to share Achilles’s bed. Very well. Tag along if it will make you feel better.”

It strikes me that this Helen is a bit different from the one plastered across the gossip sites. The changes are subtle, but I make a habit of filing away every interaction with powerful people who move among the Thirteen. They’re dangerous in their own ways, and it pays to never be caught flat-footed.

The version she plays in public is bubbly in an almost aggressive way. She lights up every room she walks into, stands too close, and laughs too loudly for polite company. It’s as if she forces her mark into every space she occupies, dares people to ignore her.

This Helen still stands too close, but she’s more subdued. She’s sad. Almost vulnerable. It makes me feel strange to notice that she’s more complicated than I first expected. “You didn’t know about the marriage, did you?”

Instead of answering, she goes on the offensive. “Are you and Achilles in a relationship? Or are you just friends who sometimes fuck?”

I miss a step. “That’s none of your business.”

“Neither is whether or not I knew about the marriage beforehand.” We stop at the corner, and she pulls out a phone in a glittering case. Everything about Helen seems to glitter. It’s unnerving, reminding me of the various animals whose bright coloring signals their poisonous defenses. She flips it around to show me the screen. “My ride will arrive in a few minutes. You’ve done your duty. You can go now.”

I plant my feet. “I’ll stay until they get here.”

“Fine.” Helen plants her hands on her hips, which makes it impossible not to notice how well the dress fits her body. It’s a piece of art, the cut seeming to defy physics in a way I don’t completely understand. Surely there is some tape or contraption involved to keep her breasts from escaping?

Her low laugh has me jerking my gaze back to her face. Gods, I was staring at her chest. My skin heats, and I’m grateful for the shadows. Hopefully they’re hiding my blush. “Sorry.”

“It’s really a shame you and Achilles are none of my business. You’re very handsome, and I’m feeling a special kind of reckless.” She steps close. Not quite enough to touch, but it’s a near thing. Helen stares up into my face. “Want to get into some trouble with me, Patroclus? You can tell Achilles about it later in…extreme…detail.”

I can see how that would go all too clearly. If she were anyone else, if this were any other situation, Achilles would get off on that. Usually, the situation is reversed. He’ll have some fun and tell me about it while he’s fucking me or I’m going down on him, though he always peppers me with questions when someone catches my eye enough to pursue a single night of fun. It’s been a long time since I indulged, and in different circumstances, he’d be delighted by my uncharacteristic impulsiveness.

This, though?

This feels too much like a betrayal for reasons I don’t particularly want to look into. I finally shake my head. “No. Under other circumstances, but…” I hate the disappointment that shades her features, hate it so much I catch her hand and lift it, turning to press a kiss to her wrist. “I’m sorry.”

“Your loss.” But she makes no move to put more distance between us or break our contact.

The moment spins out, as fine as gossamer and filled with possibility. Saying no is the right thing to do. I’m already reacting too strongly to Helen without a physical component involved. I have many strengths, but sex can occasionally muddy the waters, dull my normally sharp mind. I can’t afford for that to happen now, when Achilles is poised to take everything he’s worked and sacrificed so much for. I certainly can’t do so with this woman, who is in direct opposition to that goal.

If Achilles wins, he’ll marry her.

The thought brings a flare of heat so intense, I lean toward Helen without intending to. We’d planned for the marriage to be in name only, but…what if it wasn’t?

She tilts her head back and licks her lips, her gaze on my mouth. “Patroclus.”

Gods, the way this woman says my name, low and breathy with a hint of question that makes me want to pull her close and kiss her until the only thing she can level that impressive focus on is me.

What the fuck is happening to me?

A horn honks, jarring us out of the moment. Helen takes a large step back and pulls her hand out of my grasp. “Another time, maybe.” Her grin goes downright wicked. “I changed my mind. Don’t keep this between us. I’m sure Achilles will be thrilled to know he’s going to face me in all three trials.”

If her competence is half as strong as her arrogance, she might actually have a shot. I stand there and watch her climb into the back seat of her ride. The taillights disappear quickly down the street, turning back toward the city center.

There’s no doubt about it.

This situation just got even more complicated.

Achilles

I wake up the moment Patroclus slips into bed. He’s trying to be quiet, but as stealthy as he is, I’ve never been that heavy of a sleeper. Not as a child, and sure as fuck not when I became a soldier. I roll over and hook an arm around his waist, pulling him to me, his back to my chest. I bury my face in the nape of his neck. He smells like summer night…and perfume.

I open my eyes. It’s still dark. The clock reads 3:00 a.m. “You’re back early.”

“Yeah.” He’s so tense, he’s like a block of concrete. Something happened. Something he doesn’t want to talk about.

Yeah, that’s not going to work for me. “Patroclus.” I press him down onto the mattress and prop my head on my hand. “Talk.”

I can’t see his expression clearly in the shadows, but I don’t have to. I know this man as well as I know myself. I can practically feel the guilt coming off him in waves, even if it doesn’t make a damn bit of sense. Nothing he could have done tonight should spawn guilt. That’s not how we work.

Finally, he drags in a breath. “Helen Kasios put her name forward as a champion.”

“What?”

“Yeah.”

I shake my head. “What the fuck is she thinking? She’s going to get hurt, and that will piss off Zeus and Aphrodite and make things more difficult for the new Ares.” For me.

“I used to know her.”

That shocks me enough that I sit up. “What are you talking about? You don’t know Helen Kasios.”

“I used to.” He says it like a confession. “We went to school together when we were kids, before my family moved away from the city center. We were…friends.”

He’s never once mentioned her in all the time I’ve known him. I know I should see that as proof that she’s no one to him, but all I can focus on is that there are parts of Patroclus that I don’t recognize. I scrub my hand over my face. “So you knew Helen Kasios once upon a time and she put her name forward as a champion.” That’s not enough to spawn this guilty reaction in him. “What else happened?”

“She…” He clears his throat. “I’m pretty sure she propositioned me.”

People come on to Patroclus all the time. He’s sexy, he’s got a soldier’s body, and he’s smart as fuck. Anyone who talks to him for ten seconds knows he’s a catch. Most of the time, he doesn’t even register that he’s being hit on. When he does, he politely disengages. It’s rare for someone to interest him enough to allow himself to be seduced, and even rarer for him to act like this afterward. I’m pretty sure it’s never happened before.

I don’t like it.

I sure as fuck don’t like how it makes me feel.

“How?” I don’t mean to ask the question. The single word lands like a gauntlet thrown between us, too heavy for three little letters.

Patroclus tenses. “What?”

I’m already moving, climbing out of bed and motioning impatiently at him. “Show me how.”

“Achilles…” He reluctantly follows and moves to stand in front of me. He’s naked and half-erect and that shouldn’t piss me off, but nothing about this situation is like it should be. Patroclus sighs. “Why are you doing this?”

“I want to know.” I sound like an asshole, but I can’t stop myself. I’ve seen Helen Kasios. Fuck, I’ve talked to her a few times, though her aggressively bubbly personality grates. She’s easily the most beautiful person in Olympus. The kind of beautiful that would make a person forget themselves and act against their own best interests. The kind of beautiful that can spark wars and doom relationships.

I won’t let her doom mine. I don’t give a fuck if she’s turned her eye on Patroclus. She can’t have him. He’s mine.

Patroclus sighs again. “Nothing good will come of this.”

“Since when do we keep things from each other?”

“Nothing happened, Achilles. I don’t understand why you’re jealous.”

Jealousy. That’s what this feeling is. I hate it. I want to kill it with fire. Emotions aren’t as easy to conquer as physical challenges, though. I step closer to Patroclus, close enough that I can feel the heat coming off his body. “Did she stand close to you like this?”

He curses. “Fine. We’ll do this.” Patroclus takes my hand and places it on his shoulder. “She leaned on me to put her shoes back on.”

Put her shoes back on?

I don’t have a chance to voice the question, because he tightens his grip on my wrist and drags it down my chest. “And then she did this. That was literally it. You’re being ridiculous.”

His defensiveness tells me more than his protests do. Patroclus doesn’t get defensive. “You wanted to fuck her.” He sputters, which is answer enough. I drag my knuckles over his stomach and wrap my fist around his hard cock. Hard for me? Hard for her? The lack of confirmation makes something ugly snap inside me. I stroke him roughly. “She’s gorgeous.”

“You say that like everyone in Olympus doesn’t already know it.” His breathing goes choppy as I keep stroking him. “Achilles, let’s go to bed.”

I pause. “Patroclus.” I don’t have to say anything else. He knows me just as well as I know him. He knows what I want.

He digs his hands into my hair and presses his forehead to mine. “This won’t make you happy.”

“It might.”

Patroclus huffs out a laugh, though he sounds pained. “Fine. Yes, I wanted to fuck her. If she wasn’t destined to be your wife, I might have taken her up on her offer.”

My wife.

I had no intention of doing anything about the wife aspect of winning the title, and I still don’t. But in that moment, it’s impossible not to let my imagination run with how a wedding night might look with Helen Kasios. Spoiled brat, yes, but I’m not immune to her. I don’t think anyone alive is. She’d be fire in the bedroom. I don’t know how I know, but I’m suddenly sure of it.

Patroclus kisses me. Or maybe I kiss him. It doesn’t matter. We stumble back toward the bed. His hands are in my hair, stroking down my back, grabbing my ass and hauling me harder against him. There’s no denying the source of this frenzy, and we both know it.

He drops to his knees and I barely get a chance to reach for him before his mouth closes around my cock. “Fuck.” Sometimes when he goes down on me, he’s a little fucking tease, tormenting me with the slow slide of his mouth and his clever tongue until I lose my patience and haul him to the bed to fuck him.

That’s not how he sucks my cock tonight. He pulls me deep, until his lips meet my base. I stare down at him for a long moment, but Patroclus has his eyes closed. He moves over me with a determination that has my balls tightening. Like he wants to escape something. Like he’s trying to prove something.

“You’re sucking me off like you’re apologizing for something.” I tilt my head back and close my eyes. “You’re forgiven, Patroclus.” He’s right. He didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t know why I’m reacting like this, but I recognize that it’s bullshit. His moan in response to my words confirms it. This man loves me as much as I love him. He’ll fight to keep from endangering us.

I believe that. I do.

Most of the time.

This time, I don’t topple him to the bed. I let him pay a penance he doesn’t deserve because I know it will make him feel better. Every pull on my cock deflates my jealousy. It doesn’t matter that Patroclus wants Helen. Fuck, I want Helen. What matters is that he’s here, with me.

I tighten my grip on his hair. “I’m close.”

His only response is to reach down and cup my balls. He knows what I like, what will get me off the hardest. I curse and come so intensely, my knees buckle. Patroclus doesn’t stop sucking me. Not even when I have to catch myself on the edge of the bed to keep from hitting the floor. Only then does he release my cock and press a kiss to my hip. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“It doesn’t feel like that.”

I sink onto the floor next to him and lean against the bed. “I was out of line.”

“Maybe a little.”

“Definitely.” Even with the orgasm blunting my thoughts, the jealousy lingers. There are thousands of people in Olympus who Patroclus could fuck and I wouldn’t think twice about it. Helen? She’s a different story. “I’m sorry, too.” I hold up my hand. “Spit.”

“Fuck, Achilles…” He obeys, though. He always does. Patroclus spits into my hand and watches with that look on his face as I wrap my fist around his cock and stroke him lazily. He always reacts like this, as if he can’t believe he’s here, that I’m touching him like this. We’ve been partners for a decade, ever since our friendship turned to fumbling hands and messy kisses when we were twenty.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Oh yeah?” His lips curve. More importantly, the tension lingering in his shoulders dissipates. He leans against the bed, leaning his head back to expose his throat.

“Yeah.” I waste no time pressing an open-mouth kiss there as I jack him. It feels good to have him in my hand, to have him pulling me up for a rough kiss. I could finish him like this. I have so many times before. It’s not enough.

I break our kiss, ignoring his sound of protest as I drag my mouth down his chest and stomach to take him into my mouth. The tremors in his thighs confirm it won’t take long to get him off, which is just fine with me. I’m not any more interested in teasing tonight than he was. I suck him down hard, working him with lips, tongue, and that little edge of teeth he likes sometimes.

“Holy fuck, Achilles. I—” He doesn’t get a chance to finish, at least not verbally. He comes in my mouth, and I moan as I drink him down. I don’t stop there. Fuck, I don’t stop until he tugs my hair, pulling me off his cock. “Damn.”

I press a quick kiss to his lips. “See. Nothing to worry about.”

“I never said there was anything to worry about.” There’s a smile in his voice now. “But I’ve apologized and you’ve very effectively staked your claim.”

“Yeah.” I grin, completely unrepentant. “Now, bed.”

“Bed,” he agrees.

We brush our teeth and do some minimal cleanup before climbing back into bed. This time, when I pull him back against me, he’s relaxed and sleepy. He’s still Patroclus, though. I think the only thing that will shut off that big brain of his completely is fucking him damn near into a coma. A single orgasm barely slows him down.

I’m not remotely surprised when he runs his fingers over my forearm and says, “I tried to talk her out of competing.”

“I bet you did.” I tug him closer. “I take it that went over well.”

“Not even a little bit.” He sighs. “It’s going to complicate things.”

I tighten my grip on him as if I can keep him by my side with sheer strength. “It doesn’t complicate anything we don’t want it to. I don’t give a fuck if she came on to you. She’s off-limits.”

“I know.” His tone goes dry. “I was talking about the tournament. Having the prize compete for the title is…messy.”

“Oh. Right.” I close my eyes. “Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out.”

“Always so confident.” He brings my hand up and kisses my wrist. “But you’re right. This won’t be enough of a hiccup to ultimately affect things. No matter what else is true of Helen, she’s not a warrior. She doesn’t have a chance against you.”

Damn straight.

Not in the arena. And not with my man.

Helen

I’m so nervous, I feel like I’m going to puke. No matter how I acted with Patroclus last night—and I refuse to think about that self-destructive behavior too closely—the fact remains that I’m having second thoughts about the intelligence of my decision. It seemed like a good idea when I was riding a wave of fury and indignation, spurred on by Callisto’s tempting words. Even Athena didn’t blink when I showed up at her office and put my name forward.

In the cold light of day, doubt creeps in.

Even though the announcement of the tournament was televised, this is the official opening ceremony. It’s held where the rest of the tournament will be—in the arena next to the barracks. I pace back and forth between the concrete walls. I can hear the murmur of the audience creeping in from the arched doorway leading to the arena floor itself. I’m sure my brother and sister will be with Athena in the box seats specifically for announcers and the like. The other candidates will come in through the arch opposite mine, so this entrance is blessedly empty.

Once I step out and declare myself a champion, there’s no going back.

I move to the arch and peer out. This building is a traditional arena format, the flat oval in the middle deceptively small compared to the tiered seating rising around it. I’ve seen it converted to a stage for concerts and even an ice rink sometimes in the winter. Right now, it’s covered in sand with a line of thirty-six short podiums that are obviously for the champions to stand on.

The last Ares had a thing for the arena, and he put on regular events and tournaments showing off his people’s expertise. They’re great entertainment; when I was little, my favorite thing was watching his soldiers stage mock battles or one-on-one fights. Seeing those powerful people at the height of martial competence woke something in me.

Maybe that was when I started down this path, though it’s been rocky from the start. My father had strong opinions about the kinds of activities his daughters should participate in. Any kind of martial arts was right out. Eris chose ballet, which proves she’s an asshole with a masochistic streak. I’m not much better, though, because I chose gymnastics. I competed when I was in high school, but I was never going to be one of the greats. Still, it served its purpose in keeping me in peak physical condition. I kept up a good portion of the training even after I graduated, which means my upper body strength is deceptively good for my frame, and my endurance is top notch.

Both helped when I took up mixed martial arts. Six months is nowhere near long enough to come close to mastering it, but between my physical skills and the basics, I can manage. I hope.

Right now, it’s all theory. I have an idea of what the trials will be since they seem to follow a similar format each time the title of Ares switches over, but there are too many variables. Besides, guessing at what the trials may be is all well and good, but the true wild cards are the champions themselves.

The lights dim and a roar goes up from the crowd. I lean a little farther out and follow the spotlight to where my brother and Athena stand in the box. He’s wearing a suit that’s, naturally, perfectly tailored and the exact right shade of gray to play up his lighter coloring. She’s wearing a three-piece suit as well, deep maroon and with shoulders sharp enough to cut.

If Perseus is bothered by my absence, no one unfamiliar with him would be able to tell, but I know him well enough to see evidence of his displeasure in the way his eyes have gone ice cold. If my public mask is being aggressively bubbly, Perseus’s is the exact opposite. The more he’s feeling, the less he shows. Right now, his expression might as well have been carved from stone. He’s furious.

Callisto stands at Perseus’s shoulder and Eris at Athena’s, both wearing black dresses. The perfect unified foursome. The box seats circling the arena all belong to the various members of the Thirteen, but none of them are currently being spotlit on the giant screens strategically positioned around the area.

My brother holds up a hand and the arena instantly quiets. “The trials begin the day after tomorrow. Tonight is for you to get to know your champions.” He glances at Athena. “But first, let’s show our support for the woman running this whole enterprise. Athena.” He politely claps as the arena goes wild.

Athena is one of the members of the Thirteen who usually avoids the public eye. As the commander of Olympus’s special forces, she prefers to do her work in the shadows without showing her hand.

Her reluctance to preen and pose for the cameras has created a cultlike following among Olympus residents. There are entire message boards devoted to people who want her to step on them or who write fanfic about all the Thirteen, but her in particular. She prefers to pretend they don’t exist, but the side effect is that her popularity is among the highest of the Thirteen.

She flicks out a hand, her expression even. Immediately, the crowd’s cheering cuts off as if something hit a dial. Impressive. She might not do the public thing often, but she’s certainly got the presence and command for it. Athena sweeps a look across the arena. “Shall we begin? Good. Our first champion is Paris Chloros.”

I flinch, my stomach twisting as I watch my ex walk out of the entrance opposite me and wave to the crowd as he heads for the short podium on the far right. Overhead, the screen flashes clips of him from various gossip sites, and I feel a little sick when I notice how many of them feature me as well. The pit in my stomach only gets worse at how happy I look in those videos. Some of it was a lie—dealing with the paparazzi means learning to project the image you want them to run with—but I really was happy with Paris…until I realized that my nice-guy boyfriend was an even bigger liar than I was.

Paris provided this video; I know because I was asked to provide the same thing for my entrance. What the fuck is he trying to prove? Surely this isn’t all a bid to get me back? I shake my head. No, with Paris, this is more likely some kind of pissing contest, reminding everyone that I was his before I was the next Ares’s wife. I shudder. There’s a reason I broke things off with him, and I’ll commit truly outstanding acts of violence before I let him near me again.

Out of everyone in Olympus, he’s the one person I thought I could trust. The one I confessed my doubts and fears to. Instead of providing a soft place to land, he sharpened those same doubts and fears and shot them right into the heart of me, all with a smile on his handsome face.

By the time I ended things with him and managed to make the breakup stick, he’d brutalized my instincts and ruined most of my close friendships. I hadn’t even realized he was isolating me until the relationship ended and I was left standing alone.

“Our second champion is Hector Chloros.”

I smile despite myself as Hector moves easily across the sand to the second platform. All the good genes in that family went to the elder brother, a fact proven by his video. Ninety percent of it is of him and his wife, Andromache, and their daughter. It would be a strange choice if he were actually here to win, but this video feels like a declaration of a different sort. He’s obviously acting as support to Paris.

That’s going to be a problem.

It stands to reason that alliances are a possibility, but I’d been so focused on getting around my family to accomplish this that I hadn’t thought much farther than getting into the tournament and competing in the trials. Now that I’m thinking about it, though… I have three sets of allies to worry about who are significantly more dangerous than the rest of the champions. Hector and Paris. The two strangers who arrived together. And Achilles and Patroclus. Ajax will likely fall in with either Hector or Achilles, based on his history with them. Possibly even Atalanta, which would make a fourth pair to deal with. Each of those champions is a challenge on their own. Together? Things just got significantly more complicated.

“Fuck,” I murmur. Maybe I can approach Atalanta before Ajax or the others get a chance and see if she’d be willing to work together to get past the first two trials. I won’t have much time to work my charm, and I don’t really know her at all, but surely the bond of sisterhood is enough to work in my favor.

I grimace. Not likely.

While I was waffling, Athena has run through a good number of the champions. They file in, one after another. Some slump alone with their shoulders bowed, obviously not here because they want to be. Others strut and wave at the crowd. I know most of them on sight, but it’s clear that after Paris and Hector, Athena is saving the true contenders for last.

Sure enough, Ajax and Atalanta were announced next. Then comes the Minotaur—seriously, what kind of name is that—and Theseus. They look even bigger when lined up with the others. Hector and Ajax are no joke, but these two have several inches and quite a few pounds of muscle on both. Which means they positively tower over everyone else. Hopefully that means they’ll be slow and we can knock them out in the first trial.

“Patroclus Fotos.”

My attention drags back to the entrance as Patroclus walks through. The others have all dressed to impress, but he’s wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. He looks like he wants to be anywhere but here, which is somehow endearing. I can’t help comparing him to the boy I knew once upon a time, sweet and quiet and positively nerdy. He doesn’t look the same, but he’s familiar despite that. Not to mention the man is hot now. No one is going to look at him and decide he’s an easy mark, not with those broad shoulders and big hands. And he’s so damn smart, too. I could practically see his impressive brain whirling and spinning out from being so close to me. My personal taste these days leans more toward pretty and vapid, but I can’t deny that I loved ruffling his feathers.

I want to do it again.

I want to ruffle them a whole lot.

“Achilles Kallis.”

Despite myself, my breath catches at the sight of Achilles in a deep-blue suit. He’s so damn attractive and he knows it, stalking across the sand with an intent that feels almost violent. Why is that so sexy? He’s exactly the kind of person I would have gone for in the past, the exact kind of person who would have seen my proximity to Zeus as a tool to be used to their benefit. Paris certainly did. I can practically feel Achilles’s intent and ambition. The others are dangerous, but he wants this more than anyone.

Except me.

Once the cheers die down, a small smile pulls at Athena’s mouth. “And our final champion. Helen Kasios.”

Chaos breaks loose as I smooth my hand over my short golden dress and stride down the walkway to the arena floor. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter what the greater Olympus population thinks of any of the individual champions, because the victor is the one who becomes Ares. With all that said, only a fool wouldn’t start to curry favor from the very beginning. Achilles obviously has considered this, but he doesn’t have the kind of practice I do with manipulating public opinion.

I wink and blow a kiss at the camera pointed in my direction that’s feeding video to the large screens overhead. The chaos morphs into cheers. Perfect. I wave and head across the sand to my podium. Walking gracefully across sand in heels is harder than it looks, but I practically live in six-inch stilettos; I make it look easy.

Achilles moves before I reach the podium, jumping down and closing the distance between us. I tense but manage to keep my smile in place. Is he really going to try to stop me?

The asshole grins and offers his hand. “Fancy seeing you here, princess.”

I speak through gritted teeth. “You really don’t think I need help stepping up twelve inches, do you?”

His charming smile doesn’t slip. “Everyone loves a gentleman.”

Oh yeah, Achilles knows exactly how to play the game. I’d find it impressive that an orphan soldier had a better public persona than some children of the Thirteen I know, but I’m too irritated to give him any credit. With one move, he’s put me right back into damsel territory. I can’t ignore his hand or I’ll look like an asshole, which is something I can’t afford this early in the game.

I set my hand in his, a secret part of me thrilled by how he seems to dwarf me, even when I step up onto the podium and am technically taller than he is. He holds my hand a beat too long, his gaze coasting over me in a way that feels appreciative without being gross. “You know, last night I thought having you as a wife was just a side effect of getting the title I want.”

“You won’t have me as your wife,” I hiss.

“Oh yeah, I really will.” His grin widens, his dark eyes lighting up with something I could almost believe is desire. “You won’t win this, princess. Better to get some egg on your face now and keep those pretty features intact. Being married to me won’t be so bad. Trust me.”

I glare. “Take your hand off me.”

He releases me easily, turning that winning smile on the crowd as he jumps back onto his podium. I swear I can hear people actually swooning in the stands, which only makes my blood pressure rise. Maybe that’s the reason I forget myself and look up to the box seat where my brother stands. I can feel his glare from here, even if he’s not on any of the screens. I have to fight back a shiver.

It’s too late to go back. Not even Zeus himself can remove a champion once they’ve been announced. After this point, we’ll all be housed in a secondary location and cut off from everyone else in the city. It’s intended to avoid any meddling or attempts to cheat, but for me, it means that my siblings won’t be able to show up unannounced and try to convince me to back out. The only member of the Thirteen who can come and go freely from the champions’ quarters is Athena.

Athena waves an arm in our direction. “Greet your champions, Olympus.”

The cheers and screams are loud enough that I swear I feel the arena vibrate. It’s overwhelming in the extreme. Up until this point, my interactions with the general public have been through a carefully curated filter. I’m a public figure with a public persona and am often featured on MuseWatch, our resident gossip site. But I’ve never done anything like this. Even my gymnastics meets were with closed audiences, a stipulation my father put on me if I wanted to compete. It certainly didn’t earn me friends among my teammates and competitors.

I hope you can see this now, Father. In Tartarus or whatever hole the universe decided to shove you into. I hope it’s dark and horrible and you’re suffering greatly.

Things happen quickly after that. Several people dressed in Athena’s special forces uniform—black shirt, black pants, a swooping owl on the right shoulder—appear and usher us off the podiums and toward the entrance where the other champions came in. This time, Achilles doesn’t attempt to offer me a hand down, which is good because I don’t like my odds at keeping control of my expression.

The champions are led through a series of concrete hallways, through a locker room, and out into a waiting room with a single exit. The tallest of the soldiers guides us to a line of vans with blacked-out windows.

I lift my brows. “Isn’t this a bit much?”

In response, they open the door and give me an unreadable look. “It’s your choice.”

It’s really not a choice at all. Failing to follow protocol now means I’m eliminated before the trials even begin. I sigh and climb into the back of the second van. It doesn’t occur to me until far too late that I should have watched where everyone else was going and chosen accordingly. By that time, Paris is already climbing into my van and sitting next to me, too close. Hector follows, a resigned expression on his handsome face. Atalanta rounds out our foursome, her locs pulled back from her scarred face.

Paris leans close, his features so perfect that I have the sudden desire to break his nose and give him some character. Not that I minded his pretty face when we were dating. It’s what tricked me into going out with him in the first place. He gives a small smile that has goose bumps raising across my skin. “Helen, what are you doing?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Paris.” No matter how hard I try to control my tone, my words are strained by his proximity.

His smile widens, his eyes sympathetic. “I get that you weren’t happy about being the designated prize, but this is one step too far, don’t you think? You’re going to embarrass yourself and, more importantly, your family.”

I can’t help tensing. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t get me wrong. You look sexy as fuck in that little golden dress. Like a princess.” He makes a sympathetic noise. “But you can’t honestly expect to get past even the first trial. Honey, you’re too delicate for that.”

Delicate.

Just another word for weak.

I turn my face from him. “It’s not your business, Paris. Worry about yourself.”

He laughs. “I really look forward to being your husband, Helen. It will give us the fresh start we need.”

I think I hear Hector sigh over the roaring in my ears, but I can’t be sure. That’s the thing about Paris; to anyone who doesn’t know him, his charming, confident tone seems totally reasonable. Even his words aren’t overtly horrible. He used to keep that same patient look on his face when he’d burrow under my skin until I turned into a shrieking monster during our fights. He made me feel crazy, and that sensation is all too quick to rise again whenever I’m forced to interact with him.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Paris.” I keep my tone sweet and light, even though I feel like screaming. “If you win Ares and think that means you get a single marital privilege, you won’t live past the first time you touch me without my permission.”

He smiles, completely undaunted. I can’t believe I used to find his persistence sexy. It took me longer than I want to admit to realize there’s a fine line between a welcome pursuit and straight-up stalking. Paris has a nasty habit of only hearing what he wants. Obviously our time apart has not cured him of that habit. “When we’re married, I’ll have plenty of time to seduce you. You liked what we did together before, Helen. You will again.”

This time, Atalanta snorts. She crosses one long leg over the other and leans back against the wall of the van. “Take a hint, pretty boy. She’s about crawling out of her skin to get away from you right now.”

She’s right, but I hate that I’m being so transparent. I usually have a better poker face than this. I lift my chin. “I’m more than capable of defending myself.”

Atalanta gives a careless smile. “Maybe, but I’m going to marry you when I become Ares. I’d be a poor wife if I didn’t defend you against scum like this.”

“No one needs to defend Helen from me.” Paris leans in, crowding me. All I can smell is his cologne and my stomach lurches in response.

Atalanta’s smile goes sharp. “Touch her without her consent and that’s assault. Assault will get you eliminated.”

Paris sits back with a muttered curse, but I can’t appreciate the new space. My stomach drops out. I don’t know how I didn’t consider this in all my scrambling to put this plan into action. By entering as a champion, I’ve inserted myself into a group of people who fully intend to marry me. I’m the chum to their sharks, tossed into the water to drive them into a frenzy with my proximity.

Shit.

Achilles

I suspect they’re transferring the champions out of the city proper, just like Patroclus predicted, and we’re proven correct when the doors open to reveal several large buildings surrounded by trees. In the distance, I can hear the soft sound of the ocean, confirming that we’re on the coast just north of the agriculture district. If we kept moving west, we’d hit the farmland Demeter oversees.

Ajax huffs out a breath as he hauls his big body out of the van. He hasn’t stopped talking since we sat down, which is pure Ajax. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to gag him to get some peace and quiet. He whistles under his breath as he takes in the area. “Tall walls.”

I follow his gaze. Sure enough, I can just see walls that have to be ten feet tall cutting through the trees. They’ll encompass the entire property, serving to provide both safety and privacy to the champions. There will be interviews and shit at some point, likely after the second challenge when the weaker champions have been eliminated and there are only a few left. The thought makes my shoulders tense. I can fake it, and fake it well, when I need to, but there’s a reason Athena doesn’t put me on missions where I have to tiptoe around sensitive personalities.

I’m a human wrecking ball. Patroclus is the political one. He always knows the right step to take, the right thing to say.

Patroclus…and the person walking toward us right now. Bellerophon is tall with warm brown skin and a head of thick black curls. They rank higher than me in the shooting range but lower than me in hand-to-hand combat. I can pin them nine times out of ten, but they’re squirrelly despite their long limbs.

They’re also a friend, not that that matters right now.

Bellerophon stops in front of our ragtag group. “Ground rules.” Their voice is smooth and deep. “You will be assigned individual rooms in the three available dorms. Fraternize if you want, but do not try to harm any of your fellow champions. Doing so results in an instant disqualification. Trying to leave this property without prior authorization will result in an instant disqualification.” They meet each of our gazes in turn. “Do we have an understanding?”

There are various grunts and muttered assents in response, which seem to satisfy Bellerophon. “Each room has a schedule for mealtimes and open gym times, as well as a map of the common area. If you need something for your training that we don’t have on hand, we’ll see about getting it. First trial is the day after tomorrow, so you’ll be expected to keep yourself entertained in the meantime without becoming a pain in my ass.” They turn and head for the front door. “Let’s get you to your assigned rooms.” They point at the two people at their back. “You, take the right third. You, the middle. Everyone on the left, come with me.” They sweep their hand to encompass me, Patroclus, Helen, and another six people.

It’s highly absurd to have a bunch of large warriors following Bellerophon like little ducklings. Well. A bunch of warriors…and Helen Kasios.

Even being warned ahead of time by Patroclus, it was still a shock to see her show up like that. I thought for sure she’d get cold feet and back out. What’s a pampered princess going to be able to do against these competitors? She’s not like Atalanta. Atalanta is one of Artemis’s people. The woman is a scrapper and she’s fiercely competitive. She’s not one to underestimate.

Helen?

That’s a different story altogether.

“Stop glaring,” Patroclus murmurs.

I turn my glare at him instead. We’re not exclusive by any means; we never have been. What we have works for us and I’m not exactly eager to change it… But I can’t help my mixed feelings about how close he came to saying yes to Helen last night. He’s not one to be ruled by his emotions and baser lusts, and he almost threw caution to the wind and acted against both our best interests to get a chance to take her to bed. That makes her dangerous in a way that has nothing to do with combat.

“Stop staring at Helen’s ass,” I mutter right back.

He lifts his brows, his silent censure making me even snarlier. Patroclus holds the door open for me and follows me into the dim interior of the dorm. I barely notice the expensive furnishings and the tasteful color scheme. All I can see is the golden sway of Helen’s hips and ass as she walks in front of us. Surely she’s putting a little more swing in each step to torment me in revenge for that little stunt I pulled with the podium.

I’m not going to apologize for it. I saw an opportunity and I took it. Simple as that. There’s really nothing else to say.

“Achilles, control yourself.”

Normally, I embrace Patroclus’s calming effect. Right now, I kind of want to shove him into a room and fuck him until I’m all he can think of, instead of a certain spoiled princess. Gods, I’m fucked in the head over this. I thought last night would be the worst of it, when shock tangled up with jealousy and made my head spin. Apparently I was wrong. I should be concentrating on what comes next and mentally preparing, but all I can think about is those two together.

It would be quite the sight. Fuck, if she was anyone else, I’d make a case for Patroclus and her allowing me to watch…maybe to participate a bit, too. But she isn’t anyone else.

She’s Helen Kasios.

Precious princess of Olympus.

Sister to both Zeus and Aphrodite. Future wife of the next Ares.

Fucking her is out of the question. Getting near her at all is out of the question, a fact that complicates the current situation because someone is going to knock her out of the competition, which means there will be bad blood between her and whoever that may be. It can’t be me. Fuck, it can’t be Patroclus, either, because he’s a permanent fixture in my life and will be even after I become Ares. Creating animosity between her and either of us is a terrible idea.

She’s put every single champion in a truly shitty position, and she doesn’t seem to care. Which just lines up with what I know about her. Selfish, pampered princess. She decided she didn’t want to be the prize, so she threw a tantrum and entered the competition herself, despite being outmatched and outgunned. She has no fucking chance of winning. Frankly, it pisses me off.

She pisses me off.

“Stop glaring,” Patroclus repeats.

“No one here to see it.”

Bellerophon turns down a series of halls to one that has three offshoots. They point to the first one. “Three people in here. Room choice is up to you, but don’t get precious about it.” We all wait for those three to peel off and head down the short hall to the pair of doors on either side and then walk to the second hallway. “Three more.”

It happens so quickly. They peel off and then there’s just three of us left. Me. Patroclus. Helen. Fuck.

“Last three.”

Helen doesn’t look at any of us, marching down the hallway. I hate how gorgeous she is. Her short golden dress seems designed to catch every ray of light, molding to her athletic body and giving a truly excellent view of her round ass. If I remember correctly, she used to be a gymnast or some shit like that. Looking at her body, I believe it.

A day ago, I’d have said my attraction to her isn’t a bad thing. I plan to marry the woman, after all. Attraction is near enough to liking someone that we could have made something work.

Now I’m not so sure.

Helen glances over her shoulder, lifting her brows when I jerk my gaze to her face. “This one’s mine.” She opens the middle door and steps inside, closing it with a click that feels final. Did she choose that room so she’d share a wall with both of us? I highly doubt it. No matter how pretty her smile, she’s obviously not that savvy if she’s here in the first place.

Bellerophon crosses their arms over their chest. “Is this rooming arrangement going to be a problem?”

“No,” I answer quickly. Too quickly.

They give me a long look. “I wasn’t aware you have history with Helen.”

“I don’t. We don’t.” I don’t give a fuck if Patroclus used to be sandbox playmates with her. That was a long time ago and it’s ancient history now. He feels no loyalty to her. “This is fine.”

“It is fine.” Patroclus shakes his head. “The room arrangements change nothing.”

That’s the problem; my man had a plan and nowhere in that plan did it include us competing against Helen herself. Knowing Patroclus, he needs some quiet time to get his thoughts in order and figure out an updated strategy. He thinks best when I’m not “hovering” as he calls it.

I nod. “I’ll be over in a bit.”

“Achilles.” He holds my gaze. “Don’t do anything impulsive.”

I laugh and put on my most charming smile. “Me? Impulsive? Never.”

“Uh-huh.” Patroclus shakes his head and walks to the door on the right, disappearing through it.

Once he’s gone, I turn to Bellerophon. “Athena around?”

“No.” They prop their hands on their hips. “Even if she were, she doesn’t answer to you and she has her own reasons for allowing Helen to participate. It’s too late to do anything about it but move forward. Keep your eye on the ball, Achilles. We’re all rooting for you.”

Of course they were. Having me as Ares would create a new peace between Ares and Athena that hasn’t existed in decades. By the nature of the two titles’ responsibilities, as often as they work together, they’re also competing for the same resources. Ares holds the security forces that most of the Thirteen utilize and Athena heads up the special forces. Both answer directly to Zeus, and the last Zeus liked to play them against each other. This one promises to rule with a more even hand, but having one of Athena’s former people as Ares would smooth the way even more.

“I’ll get it done.” I nudge their shoulder. “I’m the best, after all.”

“Yeah, yeah.” They snort. “Get some rest and try to stay out of trouble.” Bellerophon hesitates. “And keep an extra eye on the Minotaur and Theseus. They seem like trouble.”

“I think so, too.” We don’t get a lot of outsiders in Olympus by nature of the difficulty to pass in and out of the city. A barrier wraps the city and surrounding area, large enough to encompass the farmland Demeter oversees and ensure the people are fed. I’ve never gotten a solid answer on why Poseidon and a select few of his people are able to pass back and forth freely. Patroclus has his theories and it has to do with bloodlines, but that shit is above my pay grade. For better or worse, Olympus is where I was born and it’s where I will make my mark. I couldn’t give a shit about the rest of the world outside it.

I eye the door Helen disappeared through. I need to have a conversation with the little princess. The glance I shoot at Patroclus’s door isn’t quite guilty, but I can’t help feeling it as I lightly rap on Helen’s door. He told me to behave, and I’m pretty damn sure he wouldn’t approve of the conversation I’m about to have.

If there’s even a chance I can get Helen to resign as champion, I should try. It’s better for everyone if she’s not competing—even her. Patroclus would agree with that reasoning… Probably.

Helen opens the door but doesn’t move out of the way. She also doesn’t seem surprised to see me. “Achilles.”

“We should talk.” There. That’s nice and neutral.

She considers me for a long moment before finally stepping back and holding open the door. “You should know, if you try something, I will make you regret it.”

I’m careful not to brush against her smaller body as I step into the room. I’m a big guy, and I’m not ashamed to say I’ve used my size to intimidate people in the past. It was part of my job, after all, but that’s not what I’m here for right now. Even knowing that, my mouth gets away from me. “What are you going to do, princess? Stomp on my foot with one of those spike heels? That won’t slow down any warrior who’s worth a damn.”

“Hmm.” Helen shuts the door and leans against it, considering me. It almost looks as if she’s measuring me up as an opponent. “Spike heels can do plenty of damage against other parts of your body.” She gives my hips a pointed look.

That surprises a laugh out of me. “I’d like to see you try it.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time.”

This interaction isn’t going at all like I expected. The precious princess of Olympus should have swooned at the first hint of a threat, no matter how veiled. This woman looks like she’s all too willing to follow through on her threat and sink one of those impressive heels into my fleshy bits.

I shift closer to her despite myself. “You think you can take me.”

“Baby, I know I can.” Helen meets me halfway, planting her feet and almost daring me to close the last bit of distance between us. She looks me up and down, and I don’t think I imagine the lick of heat in her amber eyes. “The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

“As if I couldn’t squash you with one arm tied behind my back.” What the fuck am I doing? Threatening this woman? It’s not even that she’s a woman. I don’t believe in that stereotypical bullshit about considering women noncombatants when they are obviously more than capable of being dangerous enemies. Anyone who underestimates Athena barely lives long enough to regret it.

I just didn’t expect to find an enemy in this woman. If that’s even what she is. Enemy feels like a strong word, but what else do I call her? She wants to snatch away the thing I desire most in this world, the title I’ve spent my entire life chasing. Enemy is the only label that does her justice.

Helen licks her lips. “Prove it.”

I plant one hand on the door next to her head. The new position has me leaning down over her, and even as a voice that sounds a whole lot like Patroclus whispers that this is a mistake, that we promised to stay away from her, I can’t seem to trigger my brakes. “You’re not going to win this tournament, princess. You’re not going to become the next Ares. Fuck, you’re probably not going to get past the first trial. This little rebellion of yours is cute but ultimately meaningless. Your fate is to stand up on that podium and greet your new spouse when they emerge victorious.” I grin. “Greet me when I step forward as the new Ares.”

If I wasn’t watching her so closely, I would miss the way she flinches the tiniest bit. Something like guilt tries to clamp around my chest, but I ignore it. There’s more at stake than this woman’s feelings. “Leave. Go back to your fancy penthouse and pretty dresses. You’re going to get hurt if you stay here.”

Helen leans back against the door, easing another inch of distance between us, though her hair brushes my thumb and I have the most ridiculous urge to move my hand a little closer to make it happen again. She lifts her chin, somehow managing to look down her nose at me despite being far shorter. “Are you going to hurt me, Achilles?”

“I don’t want to.” It’s the truth. I take no joy in smashing opponents clearly physically weaker than me. I also can’t afford to be precious about my honor right now, not with the stakes so high. “But yeah, I will.”

She narrows those pretty eyes. “And Patroclus. Do you think he’ll hurt me?”

No need to be a genius to read between those lines. I lean down until I’m right in her face, being a total dick about our size differences. “Leave him alone, princess. I don’t give a fuck if you used to know him. You don’t anymore. He’s not like us. He feels too fucking much, and you’ll break his soft damn heart if you brush against him carelessly.” Fuck, I didn’t mean to say that, either. I straighten. “I mean it, Helen. Leave him the fuck alone.”

She gives me a slow smile that has alarm bells ringing through my head. “He told you about last night, didn’t he?”

“What’s that have to do with anything?”

“Achilles.” She shakes her head like I’m a child who’s disappointed her. “Baby, you sound jealous. If your relationship—your non-exclusive relationship—with Patroclus is so strong, who cares if I fuck him until he forgets his name?” Her expression goes almost contemplative. “Maybe I’ll fuck him until he forgets your name. That would be quite the trick.”

“Stay the fuck away from him, Helen.”

She presses a hand to my chest, pushing until I retreat a step and then another. Helen uses the new distance to open the door. “This was a nice chat, Achilles. We should do it again sometime.”

A clear dismissal, and one without a promise to stay away from Patroclus or resign from the tournament. I might laugh if I weren’t so frustrated. She managed to run circles around me. She’s also right; I’m fucking jealous of the fact she made a pass at Patroclus last night. More, she got to him and turned his head.

It’s only when I’ve stepped into my room and shut the door between me and the rest of the world that I can admit I don’t know who I’m more jealous of.

Helen, for trying to sleep with Patroclus.

Or Patroclus for having the chance to take Olympus’s precious princess to bed.

Patroclus

It doesn’t matter which scenario I run, the result is always ambiguous. Helen Kasios entering the tournament has complicated things. The problem isn’t that she’s a formidable opponent—though I can’t rule that out, no matter what assumptions Achilles insists on making. No, the issue is how her presence disrupts the other champions. Her being here might cause them to act in ways I can’t anticipate, and that is doing a number on my head.

Paris’s emotions are compromised when it comes to Helen because of their history. I can’t decide if that means he’ll try to help her to get in her good graces or go out of his way to ensure she’s eliminated early.

Hector has obvious guilt about the way his brother has treated her, and that might cause him to help her if it outweighs his loyalty to Paris.

Even Achilles is acting slightly out of character, his temper shorter than normal ever since I gave him the rundown on what happened with Helen last night.

If I’m going to be perfectly honest, my reactions are off as a result of her presence as well. I can’t stop examining my unexpected attraction to the woman from different angles, as if hyperfocusing on it will bring clarity. It would be easier if the only thing that drew me was her beauty. That would make logical sense. Unfortunately, it’s…messier…than that. I feel a connection with her because of our history, ancient though it may be. I desire her now. Fuck, I respect her for entering the tournament and taking her fate into her own hands, even if it’s complicated my life.

The bottom line is I feel drawn to her. It’s not convenient and it’s not logical, and the battling desires between wanting to follow my original plan and wanting to go knock on Helen’s door to just be closer to her are making me want to crawl out of my skin.

I am not a man who is at war with himself. I run scenarios. I use logic and reason. Emotions play into it—I’m human, after all—but they don’t rule me. My brain does.

Until now, when I can least afford to alter my course.

A knock on my door has my heartbeat speeding up, and I curse myself for the fledgling hope that it’s her. It’s not. Of course it’s not. Helen has no reason to seek me out. We haven’t spoken in more than twenty years aside from last night, and that was a conversation of circumstance. She’d been caught putting her name in as a champion and wanted to persuade me to silence. She probably hasn’t given it another thought.

A second knock is in the brisk tempo I recognize as Achilles’s preferred way of announcing he’s about to enter a room. I bite back a sigh and open the door before he decides to knock it down. He nearly bowls me over entering the room. “That woman is a menace.”

I stare. “You went to talk to Helen.” Why am I surprised? Of course, the first chance he got, he immediately went back on his determination that we stay away from her. Achilles has his endgame in mind, and he won’t take kindly to Helen throwing a wrench in the gears. Naturally, he decided to see if he could talk her into resigning. If that’s all it was… I push the thought away. I have no reason to doubt him. “You should have asked me first. She’s not going to change her mind.”

“I thought I could talk her out of it.”

I huff out a breath and head for the little kitchenette positioned in the corner of the living area of this suite. I’d have to walk through Achilles’s room to be sure, but I’d wager the suites are all laid out the same. Main door into the living room with a small couch, television, and coffee table. Kitchenette tucked against the far wall with sink, mini fridge filled with snacks and a small selection of alcohol, and a microwave. Short hallway back to the bedroom and bathroom with its ridiculous shower and deep tub.

The couch is sturdy enough. I don’t bother to be gentle when I sit. “Told you so.”

“I don’t need you to fucking manage me, Patroclus.” But he follows me over and drops down beside me with a grunt. “She’s going to get hurt.”

“It’s probable.”

“You good with that?”

I give him the look that question deserves. He knows damn well I’m not good with it, but at least in this situation, I have to mimic Achilles’s determination and drive. I can’t afford to care about Helen. She’s barely more than a stranger to me now, anyway. It’s not logical to care about her, beautiful or no, history or no. “I highly doubt it will be serious. Even the new Ares will have to answer to Zeus, and no one wants to piss him off by seriously injuring his little sister.”

Achilles catches my hesitation. “But?”

“But…” I really don’t want to get into this, but it’s been nagging me from the moment the champions put their names forward “But we don’t have much information on the two non-Olympians. I can’t completely rule them out as dangerous.”

“Either way, we both need to stay away from Helen. She’s off-limits.” He gives me a long look. “Agreed?”

Some irrational part of me wants to push back, but that doesn’t make sense. We don’t have many ground rules, so when one of us requests something like this, it’s important for the overall health of the relationship to respect that request. I can’t remember the last time it happened. Maybe a few years ago when I asked Achilles not to pursue Cassandra. That time wasn’t out of any jealousy, though. I just noticed the way Apollo looked at her—still looks at her, if the last event we attended is any indication. No one needs Apollo gunning for them.

I nod slowly. “I already agreed last night. Nothing’s changed since then. Helen is off-limits.”

“Good.” Achilles stretches out his big body, kicking off his shoes and setting his feet on the coffee table. He catches my frown and laughs. “This isn’t our place. Who cares if I have my feet on the table?”

“It’s still rude.”

“Relax, Patroclus.” He nudges me with his elbow. “We’re where we’re supposed to be. It’ll all work out.”

I frown harder in response. “Don’t pull that lazy god bullshit with me, Achilles. I know you’re worried about this.” He might put on the mask for other people, but he’s not supposed to do it with me. “We need to—”

“We need to relax.” He hooks a hand around the back of my neck and tows me down into a kiss. It’s a little rough, a little sweet, and all Achilles. I’m tempted to keep arguing, but he’s right. I’ll go round and round in circles for days about this. Sometimes clicking off my brain is the right call, and we can’t take any action until the first trial. So…

“Patroclus.” He nips my bottom lip. “You’re still thinking too hard.”

“Sorry.”

He laughs. “Good thing I know a trick or two to help with that.” Achilles shifts, moving to kneel between my legs. The space really isn’t big enough for both of us like this, but I don’t say a single word as he undoes my jeans and jerks them down my hips. He gives me a devilish grin. “I love it when you look at me like that.”

Gods only know what my face is doing, but moments like these feel almost too good to be real. This man, this powerhouse of a golden god, is mine, at least in part. Achilles was meant to be standing in front of a crowd of screaming people, to be the center of their attention, the one they adore and will tell stories about. He’s larger than life, even when performing the normal activities that Athena requires of us.

It’s even truer now, on his knees and wrapping a fist around my cock. I keep waiting for the day he realizes it and leaves me in the rearview. Achilles will always have his gaze on the stars. And me? My feet are firmly rooted in the earth. It seems inevitable that he’ll move beyond me some day, so I try to cherish every moment we have, storing them up against the winter of my future without his shining warmth in it.

He dips down and takes my cock into his mouth, and my thoughts fade in the face of so much pleasure. We’ve been together for so long. We know exactly what touch, stroke, pressure the other requires to get off the hardest. Achilles isn’t sprinting to that destination like last night, though. His mouth descends my length in a slow, wet slide that tells me he intends to take his time. He might be impulsive, but when Achilles sets his mind on a task, he’s fearsome in the extreme.

Apparently he’s set his mind on my pleasure tonight.

I sink my hands into his dark hair, not trying to guide, merely along for the ride. He teases me, alternating the deep strokes with long licks and flicks of his tongue. My legs start to shake all too soon and I yank on his hair. “Achilles!”

His slow smile makes my chest hurt. Times like these are damn near perfect. Too perfect. How can I not wait for the other shoe to drop? He wraps his fist around my cock and gives me a few slow strokes. “I’m going to take you to bed. Don’t be quiet.”

Understanding dawns slowly within the fog of my desire. I glance at the wall…the wall I share with Helen. “You want her to hear.”

He shrugs, completely unrepentant. “I’m still feeling a little jealous.”

The concept of Achilles jealous of anyone is almost beyond comprehension. Maybe I’m a selfish asshole, because I kind of like it. I tug on his hair again, more gently this time. “I won’t try to be quiet, but whether things get loud depends on you.”

He grins, just like I expected him to. “Challenge: accepted.” He rises easily despite kneeling for so long and grabs my hand to tug me to my feet. We stumble down the hallway, kissing and rubbing on each other like a pair of fumbling teenagers, but the second we reach the bedroom, he’s focused in on me again. Achilles knocks away my hands when I reach for the hem of my shirt. “Let me.”

“Bossy.”

“You like it.” He pulls my shirt over my head and skims my pants the rest of the way down my legs. And then he’s surging to his feet and taking my mouth again. This time, there is no gentleness, no sweetness. Achilles kisses me like a conquering warlord, and I am all too willing to cede to the demand of his tongue. He strips in between kisses as he backs me to the bed.

I try to move back so I can appreciate the view, but he’s having none of it. He shoves down his pants and then he’s on me again, bearing me down to the mattress and settling on top of me. I might be taller, but he’s much larger, and moments like these really highlight the differences. He strokes his hands over my arms and down my sides. “I don’t want to wait anymore.”

“Impatient.”

“For you? Always.”

I arch up and kiss him. There are times when I want the slow buildup and the careful readying that being with a man Achilles’s size sometimes requires, but tonight I’m just as impatient as he is. “Yes. I need you now. I don’t want to wait.”

He moves off me long enough to yank open the nightstand. I’m already blushing when he laughs because I know what he’s going to say. I’m right. Achilles shakes his head. “We’ve been here twenty minutes and you already unpacked?”

“I don’t like living out of a suitcase.”

He fishes out the bottle of lube and gives me a searing look. “I know.”

I watch, my heart in my throat, as he spreads lube onto his cock. Like the rest of Achilles’s body, it’s in perfect proportion…which means it’s rather massive. Even after all this time, there’s a moment of hesitation mixed in with my anticipation, the feeling reaching new heights as he begins to ease his cock into my ass. A rough moan slips free, and he sinks deeper in response. “I want to watch you come all over your stomach. I fucking love it when you lose control like that.”

My ability to form words is rapidly disappearing. All that’s left is desire. I arch up and kiss him. I need to be consumed entirely. There’s no thought for anything else but taking more of him into more of me. Achilles seems to sense exactly what I crave because he thrusts fully into me and lets his body weight rest more firmly on mine, pressing me into the mattress as he kisses me like he needs me more than air to breathe.

I feel the same.

It’s enough. It’s perfect. We could stay forever like this, poised in this moment where lust and love meet.

But our desire won’t be so easily sated. He starts to move first, tiny little thrusts that have me moaning and writhing for him. It’s good, too fucking good. I try to last, to hold out, but I’ve never won a battle of wills against Achilles. Tonight won’t be the moment I start.

I grip his hip, a rough moan slipping free. He grins. “More.”

I’m helpless to do anything but obey. Every thrust drags another moan from my lips. It feels so good to have him fuck me like this, all his focus narrowed on me and me alone. Each thrust is rough and perfectly controlled, designed to curl my toes and short out what little thought remains in my head. By the time my body overrides my control and I come all over my stomach and chest, I’m chanting his name.

Achilles shifts back, propping himself up on his hands as he picks up his pace, chasing his own pleasure. He devours me with his dark gaze, a possessive stroke that I can almost feel over my face and down to where my seed marks my skin. “You’re mine, Patroclus.” He curses, his rhythm going irregular. “And I’m yours. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” I gasp out. I reach down to grab his hips, urging him deeper. “And you’re mine.”

At least for now.

Helen

I don’t touch myself to the sound of Achilles fucking Patroclus…but it’s a near thing.

The rhythmic thumping of his headboard, interspersed with low moans and Patroclus practically yelling Achilles’s name, doesn’t do much for my ability to sleep. I lie in my bed and try very hard not to picture those two going at it. They’re both far too attractive for my frame of mind, and I’m far too attracted to both of them. If we weren’t all competing for the same title, I might put a little more effort into seducing one or the other…or both.

By my logic, sleeping with one of them is good, so surely both of them in my bed would be a phenomenal night.

I roll over and punch my pillow. My desire for them might be real—and inconvenient—but it’s just my recklessness talking. I spend so much of my life carving out the sensitive parts of myself so no one else can see them, touch them, hurt them. Is it any wonder that all the ugly bits bubble up and overwhelm me from time to time? That occasionally living in this skin is too much and I need an outlet?

There was a time when I chose more self-destructive methods than sex to relieve that pressure. I don’t like to think about it now, but it wasn’t like I had the tools to deal with living in Zeus’s household in a healthy way. It wasn’t until I started sneaking to therapy at twenty that I managed to curb the worst of my impulses. My therapist isn’t thrilled about me using sex to appease that urge, but we have a compromise. I am always safe and always careful about who I sleep with, even when I’m doing things I know I shouldn’t. It seems like an oxymoron but it works.

Sleeping with either Achilles or Patroclus—or both—is not safe or careful. Yes, I want them, though I also want to shove Achilles out a window. But Patroclus was right to turn me down the other night. Not to mention… Gods, I don’t even know him anymore. Not really. And I sure as fuck don’t know Achilles at all. They might be just as much monster as Paris is; I didn’t see his true colors until it was far too late for an easy escape. Sex complicates things, even with the most emotionally unavailable person. Sex with two men who want the same thing I do, who will crush my dreams without a second thought?

Surely, I’m not that self-destructive.

Surely.

On the other side of the wall, the bed starts thumping again.

“Are you fucking serious?” There’s no sleeping like this. I might as well not even try. If it were another situation, I might appreciate their stamina, but I’m tired and overwhelmed and listening to Patroclus get his back blown out is making me both crankier and green with envy.

I sigh and climb out of bed. Maybe the couch is more comfortable than it looks. We don’t have overly long until the first trial, and I need sleep and to be mentally preparing. It should be easy. This is what I want, after all. But when I try to gather my thoughts about me, they scatter like marbles.

I’m just tired. That’s all.

As I pad down the hall and step into the main living area, I half expect to find Hermes and Dionysus poking around. They like to play the part of stray cats, always showing up in your house when you least expect it. Except…I’m not home and even those two would hesitate to trespass on Athena’s property during the Ares tournament.

Silly to miss them. Silly to miss my apartment and my carefully curated bedroom. Silly to have the faintest hurt that neither Perseus or Eris have come to check on me or yell at me or even acknowledge how thoroughly I’ve fucked up their plans. I don’t know why I expected it. Our father taught us too well. When he was truly furious at me for one thing or another, he would stop acknowledging my existence. In hindsight, I should have taken that for the blessing it was, but I had even less self-control as a child. I would get louder, angrier, more dramatic, and he would simply ignore me as if I were really a ghost banging on the walls that no one could see or hear.

I shudder. I hate that my siblings are using Zeus’s old tricks. They know how much it hurt when he’d do that, and they’re doing it anyway… I shake my head. “Way to make yourself the center of everyone’s universe, Helen. They’re probably off doing important Thirteen things, and I’m too far down the list of priorities.” I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. At least I’m the only one to witness it.

I circle the living room. Times like these, when I’m feeling particularly isolated, I have the nearly overwhelming urge to call my little brother, Hercules. We weren’t particularly close growing up. Even from a young age, he was too earnest, too pure, and it made him a target of our father’s firm instruction. The rest of us distanced ourselves from him to avoid the same fate. In hindsight, the cowardice tastes foul on my tongue. Maybe if we’d tried to step in…

But the joke’s on us elder siblings. Hercules got out. He’s living in a happy little polyamorous relationship in Carver City, freer in his exile than he ever was within these city limits. Most people who live in Olympus are so focused on the city center that they never stop to think about how we’re essentially rats trapped in a cage.

Ultimately, the barrier’s existence doesn’t matter. For better or worse, I have no intention of leaving Olympus.

I am glad Hercules got out, though. I’m glad he’s happy. He’s very careful to keep his lovers away from us, to shield them from the taint of this city and the Kasios family. Smart man. The rest of us are still dancing to the tune Olympus sets.

I won’t call Hercules this time, just as I haven’t called him any of the other times when loneliness and self-pity threatened to become overwhelming. The idea of his warm attitude is great in theory, but we have nothing to talk about, and an awkward sibling conversation where it becomes clear how distant we really are is worse than not talking to him at all.

I head back into the bedroom and glare at the wall where I can still hear Achilles and Patroclus fucking. “The couch it is.” I drag the comforter off the bed and do my best to make the couch comfortable. It’s obviously not meant for this type of thing, but just when I think I’ll never get to sleep…I wake up to the morning light streaming through the window.

I sit up and rub my eyes. My back feels like it’s got a permanent kink in it, but hopefully that will dispel once I’m up and moving. I stagger to the fridge and eye the schedule that’s been put there. A quick glance at the clock on the microwave says I need to hurry if I want to make breakfast. Since I can’t cook my way out of a paper bag, skipping a catered breakfast isn’t an option. I need my strength, which means I need the calories.

A quick shower later, I pull my hair back into a simple braid and get dressed in running tights and a sports bra. After I eat a light breakfast, I’m going to find the gym and work myself hard enough to earn a nap this afternoon. Hopefully Achilles and Patroclus take tomorrow’s trial as seriously as I do and don’t plan to have another all-nighter. I grimace at the thought of another night on the couch.

Honestly, if they’re going to be fucking like rabbits, maybe I’ll request a room change and take Achilles’s room so I don’t need to share a wall with them. It was a silly power play to take the middle room, but I didn’t think I’d come to regret it so quickly.

It’s not hard to find the breakfast room. The three dorm buildings create a U-shape around the main area, which contains the breakfast room, a living room, and a massive gym. The space is obviously designed with a group in mind. The kitchen is huge and filled with industrial appliances. A dining room holds four tables with seating for all the champions and then some. Even the living room has groupings of couches around a massive television, though I doubt many people will take advantage of it.

I circle the long kitchen island, eyeing my options. I finally decide on some of the scrambled eggs from the buffet-style setup with salsa and avocado. A scoop of mixed fruit and a giant mug of coffee finish things up. The dining room table is empty except for the two non-Olympians. I almost sit near them to prove they don’t unnerve me as much as they truly do, but the threat of indigestion is too strong to risk. Instead, I take a spot at the opposite end of the table.

It allows me a good view of the two men. I study them as I pick through my food. They’re both attractive enough in a rough sort of way, but even I would hesitate to flirt if we met at a party. There’s something dangerous about them, though I can’t say explicitly what gives me that vibe. The short-haired one, Theseus, has a bold, crooked nose that would almost be too big for his face if not for his square jaw. The other, the Minotaur, has long hair that falls in a gentle wave to his shoulders. He obviously takes care of it, because it’s thick and healthy looking, which is a feat in and of itself for some guys. The hair almost distracts from the scars: thin, faded white lines, so many that it looks like someone tried to cut his face right off. I shudder at the thought of what those wounds might have looked like fresh. Still, he’s got nice, strong brows and surprisingly sensually shaped lips.

Both are dressed unassumingly today in shorts and T-shirts; obviously they intend to use the gym, too. The short sleeves give me glimpses of tattoos crawling up their arms, but I’m not close enough to get any details. Maybe they’re organized crime?

They wouldn’t be the first to attempt to infiltrate Olympus. The way the Thirteen are chosen means some outsiders are tempted to make a bid for power. The theory is that anyone could take over enough titles to wrest power away from Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades to run the city. It’s why so many of the upper-city families flock to the Dodona Tower parties and indulge in arranged marriages with each other. Everything boils down to the power and politics and the alliances that hold the majority of the Thirteen who effectively rule Olympus. Or at least the upper city.

Sometimes people outside the city realize the same thing. It’s hard to cross the barrier, but not impossible. My father used to talk about some old enemy making a coup attempt right around the time he inherited the title Zeus, but I never made a habit of listening closely to my father’s old “war” stories since they were roughly 90 percent fiction.

Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. These two men are opponents, and their motivations for joining the tournament don’t change that. Even if one of them somehow managed to win this and become Ares, that’s hardly the majority. They can’t touch the legacy titles, and they have no chance of getting either Aphrodite or Demeter, albeit for very different reasons. I pity the fool who tries to take Athena’s title. Ditto with Hermes.

There is the little-known rule about murder, but…

I shake my head. It’s a little-known rule for a reason. Even if murdering one of the Thirteen would technically be a shortcut to bypass the normal path to claiming the title, no one is foolish enough to try it. The others would turn on them with a ferocity that would ensure they didn’t survive their first day. It’s in everyone’s best interest to go about things the proper way.

Attempting a coup of Olympus is a fool’s errand.

I finish my meal and sit back, intending to nurse my coffee for a bit and enjoy the view through the big windows along the wall behind the table. Footsteps are the only warning I get before another group of champions comes into the room.

Atalanta makes a beeline for the coffee, ignoring everyone. Hector winces a little when he sees me and steps between me and Paris, obviously trying to guide his brother toward the food and give me a chance to escape. I sigh and push to my feet. The moment of peace was nice while it lasted.

The sight of Achilles and Patroclus stops me short. Patroclus, the adorable creature that he is, seems to be blushing and is very pointedly not looking in my direction. Achilles, on the other hand, has a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he holds my gaze. Well, that answers that. They definitely knew I could hear them.

They wanted me to hear them.

Surely you don’t think I’ll blush and stammer like a teenager, you fools. Three can play this game. I set my cleared plate in the sink and make my way in their direction, putting a little swing in my step. Patroclus looks almost like he’s trying to make a getaway, but Achilles throws an easy arm around his shoulders, holding him in place. Perfect.

I cup my coffee in two hands and smile sweetly at them. “Achilles?”

He gives me that easy grin that’s a complete lie. “Yeah?”

“Next time you want to mark your territory, why not whip out your cock and pee on his foot instead? It would allow the rest of us to actually get some sleep.” I ignore Patroclus’s sputtering and lean forward, giving him wide eyes and an innocence I certainly don’t feel. “Unless you meant that to be an invitation, in which case, use your words next time.” I speak low enough that the conversation won’t carry. This is just between us, after all.

His light-brown skin goes a little dusky. “I—”

“Have a nice day.” I easily step around them and walk out of the room. It’s only when I’ve rounded the corner that I permit a smile. There’s truly nothing as satisfying as a dramatic exit. He made it so easy, too.

The feeling of petty victory fades with each step. I’m allowing myself to be distracted by those two, and that’s unacceptable. It will be best if I keep away from the rest of the champions during this process. Something I should have remembered before I needled Patroclus and provoked Achilles.

The gym is exactly what I would expect from Athena. Filled with a solid mix of free weights and equipment that looks state of the art, all of it gleaming. I finish my coffee and consider my options. I want to work off some energy, but I don’t want to overly tire myself out. A three-mile run will barely take the edge off, but I’ll do a quick round of circuit training afterward and that should do the trick.

With that decided, I head back to my room to wash out the coffee cup and grab a bottle of water from the fridge. The gym is still blessedly empty when I get back there, and I waste no time putting in headphones and getting on the treadmill.

By the end of the first mile, my muscles unclench and I start to relax. Things haven’t gone as planned, but that’s okay. I’ve been adapting to the whims of others my entire life. Why should this be any different?

Sure, I didn’t think Perseus would follow so literally in our father’s footsteps. He told the truth when he said he’s made sacrifices, too, but he’s intentionally neglecting to remember that he chose his sacrifices. He didn’t give me the opportunity to do the same. Instead, he made the decision for me and expects me to dance to his tune, a puppet on strings he commands.

And Eris? She, of all people, should realize that I understand the inner workings of Olympian politics. If they’d asked this of me instead of ambushing me with the announcement… I shake my head, wishing I could shake the thoughts clear as easily. Eris knew I’d argue and she’d have to convince me, so she jumped right over that conversation and went around me. I don’t see her lining up to marry a stranger, but she was all too happy to throw me to those wolves.

Gods, my family really is the worst.

I turn up the pace on the treadmill. It’s only three miles. I can go a little faster, a little harder. Anything to avoid thinking too closely about the fact that my brother and sister sat down and decided, together, that they were willing to sacrifice me for the goodwill of the next Ares. I don’t care what reassurances Perseus mouthed; in that worst-case scenario, I would already be harmed. Vengeance isn’t for the victims. It’s to make the people around them feel better for not doing anything to stop it in the first place.

I am no victim.

Not anymore.

I was helpless in my father’s house. My mother tried to help, but all she got for her trouble was a broken neck while my father moved on to another woman, another Hera. People used to joke about his Heras being interchangeable, toys shattered by an angry man and replaced just as easily. He would have done it again if he hadn’t died. He already had his sights set on Persephone, a woman younger than me.

Perseus was the one to tell me the news of our father’s death. I sat there and waited to feel anything at all. Sorrow. Guilt. Joy. Something. Instead, it simply felt like someone had lifted a great weight from my shoulders. The monster with the charming mask couldn’t hurt or control me anymore.

I didn’t expect my brother to step into the role of Zeus so completely. I didn’t expect him to essentially put me on lockdown—for my safety, of course. To start dictating what was and wasn’t acceptable Kasios behavior, just like our father used to.

To designate me a pawn to be sacrificed, just like our father planned.

I turn up the speed on the treadmill. This isn’t helping. I’m still thinking too much. I can’t outrun the skeletons rattling around inside my brain, but I can exhaust myself until they slumber. I have to. I can’t fucking live like this. Not when I’m so close to freedom, not when distraction means failure.

A hand appears in my field of vision. I don’t have time to do more than flinch before Patroclus hits the stop button on the treadmill. The belt slows, and I yank my headphones out of my ears. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“That’s enough, Helen.”

I open my mouth to tell him where to shove his opinion, but the red numbers catch my attention. Seven miles, not three, and at a pace that I know better than to hold. Now that my momentum has been brought up short, the shakiness in my limbs registers. The sweat coating my body. How each breath saws painfully in and out of my lungs. I’ve run farther and faster, but this wasn’t meant to be this kind of workout.

Weak. Reckless. Impulsive. I try to shove the words away, but they linger just out of reach, taunting me.

Patroclus doesn’t move, his hand still on the stop button. I suspect to keep me from ignoring him and turning the damn thing back on. I swipe sweat from my forehead with my forearm. “I’m fine.”

“You sure? Because you look like you went too hard and were going to keep running until your legs gave out.” His gaze coasts over me. It’s not sexual. He’s looking at me like he’s checking for injuries. There’s absolutely no excuse for the shiver of awareness that goes through me in response. I blame the air conditioner against my sweaty skin for the way my nipples go tight and hard against the thin fabric of my sports bra.

“I’m fine,” I repeat. It’s not true this time any more than the last time I said it. I’m so far from fine, it’s laughable, but what did I really expect? My siblings threw me under the bus; that’s going to affect me, even if a small, dark part of me isn’t surprised in the least. I’m not in the mood to try to explain that to Patroclus, though. He seems like a good guy, but he’s Achilles’s good guy. Just because we were childhood friends and he did a nice thing for me just now doesn’t mean he signed up to have all my baggage dumped on him.

Still, I can’t leave things so curtly. I hesitate. “Look, I’m not inviting you to meddle in the future, because I don’t need a babysitter, but thanks for stopping me.”

“No problem.” He drags his hand through his short, dark hair. He’s got a bit of a five-o’clock shadow going on, which gives him a roguish look that isn’t great for my libido.

Not that anything else about Patroclus is roguish. Best I can tell his nice guy routine isn’t a routine at all. That hasn’t changed, at least. I could use that to my advantage, but I’m suddenly so damn tired that I can’t think straight. He deserves better than to be the whip I pick up to flog myself with, which means I have to get out of here before I do something unforgivably foolish. “I’m going to go take a shower.”

“Helen.”

My stomach dips a little at the sternness in his tone. I stop short. “What?”

“Stretch.” He nods at my legs as if he can see the little tremors shaking them. “You’ll regret it later if you don’t.”

He’s right. My needs war with one another, one demanding I retreat to my room until I feel a little less brittle, the other wanting to stay in this man’s presence a little longer, to let him chase away the ghosts haunting me. Surely he doesn’t actually care as much as he seems to. It has to be a mask like everyone else in Olympus wears. I don’t know what purpose kindness would serve—possibly to have others underestimate him—but each of us chooses our own path to survival.

Still…

When was the last time someone tried to take care of me? Even in something as mundane as demanding I stretch after a vigorous workout? My chest goes tight. I can’t remember. The last soft person in my life was my mother, and she’s been dead fifteen years. How fucking pathetic is that?

Even knowing I should leave, the reckless urge rises in me, too strong to ignore. I smile up into his kind, dark eyes. “Will you help me stretch, Patroclus?”

Achilles

Ajax waylays me before I make it into the gym. The big man clamps a hand on my shoulder. He’s got a few inches on me, putting him at damn near six five, and he’s shaved the sides of his head to give him a Mohawk of curly black hair. Ajax’s skin is a dark brown and he’s got plenty of it on display because he’s only wearing a pair of shorts and a muscle tank top that’s more holes than fabric. He grins. “I was thinking.”

“Dangerous of you.”

Ajax laughs. “Yeah, yeah. We both know I prefer a big hammer to a political roundtable, but things change.”

“You’re going to suggest an alliance for the first trial.” Patroclus predicted this. He’s done his research and run his scenarios, though sometimes the way his mind works is downright spooky. This one, however, even I could have seen coming. Ajax, Patroclus, and I are known quantities. We’ve worked together in the past, so it makes sense to align ourselves in an effort to eliminate as many people as possible in the first trial. The alliance doesn’t have to last longer than that to be worthwhile.

He laughs again and gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Yep. I’d say there are a few champions no one wants to see become Ares. No reason to make it easy for them to pick us off.”

Interesting. I frown. “You’re allied with others?”

“I get around.” He drops his hand and shrugs. “What do you say?”

I say that Ajax is savvier than either of us gave him credit for. Still, it changes nothing for the first trial. There are a few champions I would like to see eliminated early, and Ajax as an ally makes that more likely to happen. But with that said, there’s no reason to muddy the waters. I have Patroclus. He’s all I need, and frankly, it would benefit us if Ajax is eliminated early.

I smile and shake my head. “Not this time, friend.”

“Damn. I was hoping to get you on my side. Ah well, it was worth a shot.” He clamps me on the shoulder one last time and ambles down the hall in the opposite direction I’m headed. “See you tomorrow, Achilles. Good luck.”

“I don’t need it.”

His laughter trails behind him as he rounds the corner and disappears. I head for the gym. Patroclus will have some theories on who Ajax would have allied himself with; I’d put good money on Atalanta. Ajax worked with Hector for a few years, and I think they’re on good terms, but Hector is a package deal with Paris, and no one wants to see Paris as the new Ares. None of us have had close contact with Atalanta, but her reputation precedes her. She’s steady under pressure and is pretty fucking brilliant. Not as brilliant as Patroclus, but definitely more than me and Ajax.

The gym is a nice setup, but I expect nothing less from Athena. She has her priorities in order, and she would have seen this room outfitted specifically to her directions like everything else in the house. Plenty of variety to fit the needs anyone could dream up.

I catch sight of the Minotaur on one of the benches, but he makes no move to lie back and pick up the bar with a truly outstanding number of weights piled on it. No, he’s staring at something I can’t see, his expression that of a hawk watching a particularly juicy mouse wander the field below it. That can’t be good. I stride down the space between equipment and stop short when I see what he’s looking at.

Patroclus…and Helen.

She’s on her back on the mat taking up one corner of the room, one long leg stretched up over Patroclus’s shoulder. He’s on his knees, pressing her leg down toward her chest. Rationally, I realize it’s a hamstring stretch and that they have all their clothes in place, but my brain sees the position and says fucking. Especially when he shifts forward and presses her leg another inch lower. They’re close enough to kiss, and even from here I recognize the flush of his skin.

He’s turned on. Really, really turned on.

Fury rises. I told them to stay away from each other, and it took all of ten minutes for her to have him on the floor, hot and bothered. Fuck, he knows better, too. Does no one listen to me when I talk? I clench my fists, fighting against the instinctive desire to stalk over there and rip him off her.

A snort has me looking at the Minotaur. He arches a scarred brow. “She’s moving fast with that one.”

I was just thinking the same thing, but that doesn’t mean I like other people noticing. “Shut the fuck up.”

He gives that snort again and leans back, easily picking up the bar and beginning to press it to his chest and up again. I watch for several repetitions before I turn back to Patroclus and Helen. She’s switched legs, and it irritates me further that neither of them even noticed me standing here. That spurs me into motion, the possessive ugly thing inside me taking control. I stop a foot from them and snarl. “Get up.”

Patroclus startles, which pisses me off more. He’s damn near impossible to sneak up on because he’s always thinking ten steps ahead, and yet he’s so focused on this woman that it put his big brain on hold. He sits back and shifts his hips as if I can’t tell that he’s got a raging boner. I glare at him and then turn my attention to her. “Up.”

Helen looks good. Damn it, I hate that she looks good. She’s got on a pair of pants and a sports bra that cling to her sweaty skin, showing off her toned stomach and nice tits. She sits up slowly, her expression pure challenge. “He was helping me stretch.”

“I can see exactly what he was doing.” It would be bad enough to have been the one to catch them, but with the Minotaur watching, judging, fucking laughing, I can’t get ahold of my anger. “You.” I point at Patroclus. “Get your head on straight.”

“Achilles—”

I ignore the exasperation in his tone and turn to Helen. “And you. Back to your fucking room, princess.”

“Funny thing, that.” She pushes to her feet, and I fucking loathe the way Patroclus watches her as if he’s going to jump in and catch her if she stumbles. The Minotaur is right; she’s working fast, and she’s working on my man. Helen stretches her arms over her head, pure challenge in those amber eyes. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“Helen.” Now Patroclus turns that exasperation in her direction, which is another indicator of how close they’ve gotten in such a short time. He might be soft, but he’s very careful about who he extends his circle of protection to because of it. It usually takes ages for him to warm up to a new person. How the fuck did she manage it in just a few days? It can’t be because she knew him before I did. It can’t.

“I might not be the boss of you right now, but I’m going to be your husband, and you will stop acting like a spoiled little brat.”

Patroclus sucks in a breath, and Helen’s spine goes ramrod straight. “Say that again,” she snarls.

I don’t bother. Instead I grab her and toss her over my shoulder. Patroclus starts to move forward, but I hold up a hand. “I don’t want to hear shit from you right now. Do your workout. We’ll talk later.” I don’t give him a chance to respond. I just turn and haul a cursing Helen out of the gym and through the halls. After the briefest hesitation, I go through my door instead of hers.

I barely have a chance to set her on her feet before she swings on me. I dodge back, easily catching her fist. “Sloppy.”

“I’ll show you sloppy, you asshole.” She aims a kick for my balls, and I turn my hips. The impact hits my thigh and she’s put enough strength behind it to stagger me. She’s quick, too, dancing back a step and snapping another kick at my face.

I catch her ankle and yank her off her feet, following her to the floor when she immediately tries to jump back up. She’s scrappy; I’ll give her that. She manages to elbow me in the face before I wrestle her to the floor and pin her wrists on either side of her head. “That’s enough.”

“Fuck you.” She’s so furious, she’s vibrating, her amber eyes practically shooting lasers at me. “No wonder you want to be Ares. You’re just like the last one: a fucking bully.”

“Shut up.”

But she doesn’t. She snarls in my face and tries to throw me off her, like I don’t outweigh her by a shit ton. And she keeps running that godsdamned mouth. “Poor little Achilles got his pride hurt because Patroclus was nice to me. Gods, you’re pathetic.”

“Shut up,” I grind out.

“Make me!”

There is no excuse for what happens next. One moment I’m ready to haul her to her feet and kick her ass out my door. The next… I don’t know who moves first. Maybe she arches up. Maybe I dip down. The end result is that I’m kissing Helen Kasios, precious princess of Olympus, the woman I fully intend to marry when I become Ares.

She tastes like victory.

I jerk back and stare down at her. She looks nearly as shocked as I feel, nearly as furious. This was a mistake. “I—”

“Shut up.” She arches up again, and this kiss sweeps away what little rational thought I have left. There is nothing soft in this. Maybe if there was, I’d figure out how to stop. I can’t think, though. Not as we go to war with each other, a battle comprised of tongue and teeth and surprisingly sweet little moans she makes into my mouth.

Helen shifts beneath me, rubbing her calf up my leg. I release her wrists and hook a hand under her knee, fitting us more closely together. She runs her hands down my chest, and the only warning I get is a slight tensing of her body before she hooks her foot around my thigh and flips us. She lands astride my hips and, fuck, Helen has never been more beautiful than she is in this moment. She’s a fucking mess, but she’s real.

The frenzy rises between us, as if we both can sense that slowing down will let reality creep back in. I don’t know what she’s running from. I don’t fucking care. I’m still so furious, I’m running on instinct alone, and I reach between us to grab the fabric of her pants and yank hard. It tears along the center seam, so I do it again, ripping the damn things in half.

Helen arches back and slaps me, the blow turning my face to the side. “These are my favorite running tights, you piece of shit.”

“Bill me.” I flip us again, using the change in position to settle between her thighs. She wrestles my shirt off and rakes her nails down my back, the pain making me thrust against her. We both moan, our air mingling in a furious exhale. I should gentle the kiss, should slow us down, but Helen dips her hands into my shorts and digs her nails into my ass. I thrust against her a second time and then a third, each one working my shorts lower on my hips until she shoves them the rest of the way down.

Fuck.

This is out of control.

I start to pull back, to try to insert some kind of reason, but she tilts her hips and then my cock is nudging against her entrance. We both freeze. She’s so wet, so damn welcoming, that I slide a little inside just from the force of our harsh breathing. Helen gives a breathy little whimper. “More.”

I should stop. I should tell her to wait, to slow down until we can talk about this. This wasn’t what I intended when I hauled her in here. Fuck, I don’t even know what I intended. I can’t think past how good she feels, how wet she got from this fighting, how badly I want to sink the rest of the way into her.

“We shouldn’t,” I manage.

“You’re right.” But her nails prick my ass again, and I sink another inch into her. I can’t see her face from this position, can’t stop myself from turning my head and setting my teeth against the soft skin of her neck. She responds by arching up, taking me another inch deeper. She gasps. “I hate you.”

“I hate you, too.”

Helen shivers. “Then fuck me like you hate me, Achilles. Stop pussyfooting around and do it properly.”

The last thread of my control frays and snaps. I jerk back, her moan of protest only spurring me on. I yank her pants the rest of the way off and then do the same to her bra. She tries to slap me again, but I grab her wrist and use the hold to flip her onto her stomach. She’s already lifting her ass as I move between her thighs, and then I’m inside her again.

This time, I don’t stop. I don’t hesitate. I use my bigger body to bear her to the floor and pin her there as I fuck her roughly. She moves as much as I allow, lifting her hips to take me deeper, but it’s not enough. I work my arms beneath her, clasping her throat with one and pressing the other between her thighs to stroke her clit. She’s completely wrapped up in me, completely at my mercy.

Except it feels like I’m at her mercy when she starts speaking.

“Yes. Like that. Harder.” She grabs my arms, her nails once again setting to my skin. I’ll be wearing her marks for days, and the thought only spurs me on, making me rougher.

“You’re a fucking menace.” I find the touch she likes on her clit, the one that makes her flutter around my cock hard enough that I have to fight not to lose it. My orgasm is already threatening. She feels too fucking good. “Come around my cock like a good little princess.”

“Make me,” she gasps, pressing her throat harder against my palm. “Unless you’re just as bad at this as you are at everything else.” Another moan. “Maybe I should ask Patroclus for an assist.”

“You bitch.” I don’t stop, don’t slow down. I keep fucking her as she comes apart around me, her poisonous words fated to linger even after we’re done.

Helen cries out as she orgasms, her body shaking sweetly even as her pussy clamps around me. I don’t even try to hold out. I just keep thrusting into her until need overwhelms me, filling her up with me.

It’s only when I roll off her and drop onto my back that reality starts setting in. I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. “Fuck.”

“Yes, we did that.” She sits up.

“Are you okay? I…” I make myself look at her, make myself search her expression for any sign that we went too far.

Helen picks up her pants and frowns at them. “I’m fine.” She glances at me, her face carefully blank. “You’re not about to go soft on me, are you?” When I don’t immediately reply, she sighs. “It was just sex, Achilles. You’ve had sex before, haven’t you?”

“Not like this.”

She hesitates. “Patroclus said you weren’t exclusive—”

“We aren’t.” But I’ve also never been with anyone like this, so rough and out of control. I am always very fucking aware of how easy it would be to hurt my partners on accident, and as a result, I’m always leashed. Except with Patroclus; our history means we know each other’s limits more thoroughly, and I still am careful not to cross his lines. Helen and I don’t have that history, that trust. We don’t even fucking like each other. I can’t say that to her, though. It feels cruel, even if it’s the truth. Instead, I focus on something small and mundane. “You can’t wear those pants.”

“Don’t worry. I fully intend to bill you for them.” She climbs slowly to her feet. There are faint rug burns on her knees, but fuck, she looks like a magnificent mess. It makes me want to…

I jerk upright. “We didn’t use condoms.”

“I know.” Helen sighs again. “I’m on birth control. I’ve been tested recently enough that I can confidently say you’re safe.”

Somehow, that doesn’t detract from the tightening in my chest. I can’t believe I lost control so thoroughly as to forget a condom. “The only person I have unprotected sex with is Patroclus, but we’re both tested regularly since we’re not exclusive.”

“Then there’s nothing else to say.” She turns for the door.

I’m on my feet before I decide to move. “Helen, wait.”

Another of those sighs. Gods, the woman sounds so exasperated with me that I want to toss her to the floor again. This time, when we’re finished, neither of us will have the breath left for sighing. Oblivious to the direction of my thoughts, she smooths back some of the hair that’s escaped her braid. “Look, there’s really nothing else to say. I lost control. You lost control. It ultimately doesn’t change anything for either of us, so let’s never speak of it again.”

She’s being remarkably coolheaded about this, and I don’t understand how the fuck she’s pulling if off when it’s everything I can do not to yank her to me and kiss her again. I snatch my shirt off the floor and stalk to her. Helen rolls her eyes at me. “My door is—” I pull the shirt over her head and wait for her to get her arms through it. She gives me a bored look. “Are you happy now?”

“No.” Somehow, this is even worse than her naked. Seeing her in my shirt… I already knew I was a territorial asshole, but I didn’t expect to have those urges rising up with this woman. “No, I’m not fucking happy.”

“Didn’t think so.” She turns and walks out of the room without another word.

I stare at the door for a long time. “Fuck. Fuck.” There’s no doubt about it. No matter how I try to spin this out—and I’m having a shitty time coming up with a reasonable explanation for why I fucked Helen Kasios on my floor like a godsdamned animal—there’s only one conclusion to be had.

I just screwed up spectacularly.

Patroclus

I know what happened the second I see the look on Achilles’s face. He’s so used to being in the right that when he knows he fucked up, he acts like a dog who chewed up my favorite pair of shoes. He walks through the door into my rooms with his shoulders bowed, and he won’t meet my eyes. Considering where he just was and the familiar flush to his skin, I can take two guesses to figure out what he’s done. He all but confirms it when he finally speaks. “I screwed up. I’m sorry.”

No need to ask for clarification. The evidence is right there in the scratches on his forearm and the faint perspiration dampening the dark hair at his temples.

He had sex with Helen Kasios.

I drag in a slow breath, but it doesn’t help because all I can smell is the faint scent of fucking still clinging to him. Achilles takes a step toward me, but I hold up my hand. “Go take a shower before you try to tell me you’re sorry.”

He curses and veers toward the hallway leading to the bedroom. From the back, I can see more scratches peeking out at the neck of his T-shirt. My stomach twists. I have absolutely no logical reason to be upset about this. We’re not exclusive. Achilles fully intends to win Ares and that means marrying Helen. Demanding that he not sleep with his wife is a ridiculous ask and unfair. I knew what I was signing up for when I fell in love with this man.

He was never meant to be only mine.

But all the logic in the world can’t quell the awful feeling twisting in my stomach. Tighter and tighter, harsher and harsher. I don’t mean to speak, but as he opens the bedroom door, the words slip free. “You hate Helen.”

Achilles glances over his shoulder at me. “‘Hate’ might be a strong word.” He has the grace to look ashamed, but there’s still a relaxed line to his shoulders that speaks of good sex.

The thing in my stomach twists harder. Achilles and I have been together too long to have a relationship free of ups and downs and occasionally intense fights. This feels different. Everything about this feels different. He’s occasionally selfish and impulsive; sometimes I’m selfish and distracted. Neither of us is ever cruel, but I don’t know what to call this except cruel.

“Were you that angry that I was helping her stretch? That fucking jealous? What happened to us not doing jealousy, Achilles?” It’s never been a problem before, but surely he understands this is different. Everything about his reactions to her are as outside our norm as my reactions to her. Achilles might play the golden fool sometimes, but he’s too smart to pretend he doesn’t understand why I’m upset.

His expression goes stony. “This is different.”

“Yeah. Exactly. This is different. So why did you do it?” I rush on before he can answer. For once, my mouth is moving faster than my brain. “Is it because you’re going to marry her? It’ll be your ring on her finger, so she’s just for you?” The words are out before I can call them back. I’m feeling sick enough that I don’t want to call them back. “You said she was off-limits less than twelve hours ago.”

He stares at a point over my right shoulder. A sure sign that I’m not going to like what comes out of his mouth next. He doesn’t disappoint. “She’s already getting to you.”

“You fucked her. Anyone looking at the evidence would say she’s getting to you.”

He clenches his jaw. “She knows exactly what she’s doing, too. She’s trying to cause a rift between us.”

I curse and turn away. I can’t look at him right now, not when he’s being so damn stubborn and misguided. Not when he’s being a fucking hypocrite. “Stop blaming her for your actions. Did she tie you down and fuck you, Achilles?”

“No,” he grinds out.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so. It took the two of you to have sex, and I’m not in a relationship with Helen. I’m in one with you. She didn’t put down a ground rule and then promptly break it in a jealous rage after we both agreed to it. She isn’t putting all our goals and plans in jeopardy because of her impulsiveness. She isn’t the problem.”

“Patroclus.”

I reluctantly turn to face him. Achilles looks angry, but that’s no surprise. For as long as I’ve known him, he’d rather be angry than upset or regretful. It’s an easier emotion for him. I thought we’d gotten past him doing that to me, though. I’d thought a lot of things up until we became champions. Now I’m not sure what the truth is. “I changed my mind about the shower. I need you to go.”

He jerks like I reached out and struck him. “What?”

“Get out. I can’t stand looking at you right now.” It hurts too much. I suspected things with us would eventually reach some kind of conclusion, but not like this. Never like this. I thought we had more time. This isn’t the end, not yet, but it’s the first sign of it. I need time to process, and I can’t do that with him near me.

For the first time since he walked through my door, he actually looks worried. “We need to talk about tomorrow.” An excuse and we both know it.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Ajax wants an alliance.”

I shrug. “We predicted that. It doesn’t mean anything has changed about our plans.” It’s even the truth. Nothing has changed. I will still follow Achilles into the underworld and damn myself in the process. It’s always been that way with us. Maybe if I were a better person, a stronger person, I would cut ties now before things spiral fully out of control and he tosses my heart into a meat grinder. He would never harm me on purpose, but he’s careless. He’s always so fucking careless with other people.

I’m not a better person. I’m certainly not strong enough to walk away from him, no matter how painful the future is destined to be. I just…can’t look at him right now. “Go.”

He doesn’t move. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t believe you.” If I let him, he’ll hug me and promise never to do it again, but I can’t stand the thought of him lying to me, even unintentionally. One of the things I love most about this man is that I never have to guess where I stand with him. He speaks his truth, even when it might be hurtful. A small price to pay for that clarity.

Right now, nothing feels clear. He might intend to never touch Helen again, but he never intended to touch her in the first place, and look where that’s gotten us. “Go, Achilles. Please.”

He finally nods and walks to the door. Achilles isn’t one to run from a fight; it took years before he realized that trying to hash issues out all at once instead of giving me time to process is a surefire way to escalate things. It still feels fucking terrible to watch him walk out of my rooms and close the door softly behind him.

A premonition, a vision into our future.

Someday, Achilles will walk away from me, and that time, he’ll never return.

I move to the door and flip the lock. I’m not in the mood for company right now, not that anyone is going to seek me out the night before the first trial. I pace around my living room, too agitated to sit down. Achilles didn’t cheat on me. That’s not what we’re about. But it still feels like a betrayal. I can’t parse out my feelings properly. There’s anger and hurt, yes, but also a thread of guilt.

I can’t guarantee I wouldn’t have done the same damn thing if the opportunity came my way first.

There’s something about Helen that gets all my wires crossed. It’s not just that she’s beautiful, though she is. It’s not that once, a very long time ago, she saved me from a bully. It’s not even the cunning mind she’s given me glimpses of during our handful of conversations. It’s the strange vulnerability that crept into her amber eyes the first night and then again when she was on the treadmill, obviously trying to outrun something in her head. The woman is a puzzle, and I know myself well enough to recognize that I am weak for a puzzle.

Most people act in ways I can anticipate, even if it’s illogical. Humans are driven by basic urges, even when they’re playing political games. Everyone wants something, and once I figure out what it is, it’s easy enough to see ten, twenty, thirty steps ahead.

I can’t figure out Helen’s purpose for becoming a champion. She has power, influence, more money than most people can spend in a lifetime. She’s savvy enough not to balk at a political marriage; she’ll have been prepared to navigate it from the moment she became an adult. Is she just another power-hungry Kasios making a grab for a title? Or is this all a rebellious act to stick it to her brother? Neither of those answers feels quite right.

Helen being a puzzle aside, the physical attraction I feel for her is downright uncanny. I have no idea what Achilles saw when I had her on the floor, but I’m all too ready to admit that I was far closer than I needed to be, that my body had gotten the better of me even if neither of us commented on it. And the way she kept looking at my mouth…

I don’t blame Achilles for having sex with her. The problem is I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. Jealousy. Anger. Hurt. Guilt. It’s not a simple situation, and the fact that we’re competing tomorrow in the first trial only muddies the waters further.

It doesn’t matter. It can’t matter.

When we started down this road, I decided to have Achilles in my life for as long as he’ll have me, to support him and do everything in my power to ensure he realizes his dream of becoming Ares. Feeling hurt that he slept with Helen after declaring her off-limits changes nothing. I will still do what it takes tomorrow to get him through the first trial. Not that he’ll need my help, but Achilles can have tunnel vision when it comes to his goals. If the factors change, he doesn’t always notice. That’s why I’m here.

I just…never expected to resent the role.

* * *

The next morning brings no clarity. I duck into the main living space earlier than anyone else and grab food to take back to my room. I’m still not ready to face Achilles, and I don’t even know what my reaction will be upon seeing Helen.

I was telling the truth yesterday. I don’t blame her for what happened. She knows we have an open relationship. She has absolutely no reason to think she crossed any lines by having sex with Achilles.

My jealousy isn’t logical and has no basis in fact. It’s pure emotion, and I don’t trust it not to surge the moment I see her. I’m not sure what I’ll do if it does. She deserves to be more than the club Achilles and I bludgeon each other with, but I can’t guarantee I won’t do exactly that if given half a chance.

It’s not a comfortable realization.

By the time Bellerophon comes to collect us, I’m filled to the brim with restless energy. The sensation only gets worse when I step through my door and find both Helen and Achilles already standing in the hallway. We were given no clothing guidelines, so I went with a pair of compression pants and a T-shirt. Clothing that’s easy to move in but fitted enough that it’s unlikely to catch on anything or provide a handhold for another champion. Achilles is wearing the gear we commissioned for him, a similar style to mine but with a black and silver pattern on it that’s designed to catch the eye. He looks good, just like the handsome god he plays when he’s required to deal with the public on Athena’s behalf.

Helen…

Helen looks like the princess Achilles has named her. She’s wearing tiny shorts that leave her long legs bare and a tank top that clings to her skin, both a black-gold that shines even in this low light. There’s also glitter on her skin and in her slicked-back hair. She hasn’t downplayed her beauty today. Smoky eyes and black lipstick should be too intense, but combined with the glitter, she appears otherworldly.

They look…like a couple.

Bellerophon clears their throat, and I realize I’ve been staring. “Let’s go.” They turn, leaving us to follow them down the hall in the direction of the exit.

Achilles tries to catch my eye, but I shake my head. I’m not in the mood to try to hash out anything, and even if I were, now’s hardly the time. “Stick to the plan,” I murmur.

He nods, but not like he’s happy. That’s fine. I’m not particularly happy at the moment, either. I glance at Helen again, but she seems lost in her own thoughts, her gaze a thousand miles away.

The other champions are already gathered by the time we make it out there, and everyone is quiet as we file into the vans—even Paris. I end up sitting between Achilles and Helen, which might make me laugh at the irony if I could draw the breath. My emotions are a messy tangle in my chest, so I do the only thing I can think of. The only thing that makes sense.

I focus on the trial ahead.

It will be physical—all the trials for Ares tend to be physical. It’s also likely to be something timed rather than a trial that pits champions against champions. Historically, they save those for later, usually the last one. In the last four out of five Ares competitions, the first trial has been some kind of race. An easy way to cut out the majority of the champions in one sweep. That’s what I’d put my money on.

But just because it’s a race doesn’t mean there won’t be fighting. That’s usually well within the parameters of the trial. People love a good show, after all, and blood sport is the oldest show of them all.

The van stops and the doors open. It’s time. I move first, needing to get out of the enclosed space with these two. It doesn’t matter that neither Helen or Achilles have so much as looked at each other or that the simmering connection between them might be all in my head. I need space. Unfortunately, space is the one thing I don’t have access to and won’t until the trial ends.

My nerves don’t settle as the other champions file out. If anything, they get worse. There’s always a moment like this before I go into conflict, a sickening lurch in my stomach where I’m suddenly aware that all the planning and strategizing in the world still isn’t enough to fully prepare for reality. There will always be variables I can’t account for.

The stakes have never been so high before, though.

Bellerophon clasps their hands behind their back and looks at our group. “The first trial begins shortly. You will have two minutes to study the area before the horn sounds. Once it does, you will have five minutes to complete the course. If you fall, you will be automatically eliminated.” They barely wait for us to answer in the affirmative before spinning and heading down the long concrete hallway that we exited from the other day.

Even before I see the crowd, I can hear them. I can feel them in the vibrations of the concrete around me. It’s disconcerting, but I push the feeling away. They’re not here to see me, after all. Understanding that, embracing that, means I don’t have to think overmuch about them. I’m not here to win. I’m only here as support.

Achilles falls into step beside me. “We good?”

“I’m still angry with you.” Except that isn’t quite right. There’s anger, yes, but the overwhelming feeling is loss. This is the beginning of the end that I’ve feared ever since I fell for Achilles. He might not be gone yet, but the grief still takes root all the same.

He gives a jerky nod. “Okay.” He doesn’t tell me we’ll talk later. It goes without saying that we will. Neither of us is the type to leave something festering for long, even if I can’t see a way through this. It doesn’t matter. The only thing I need to see clearly is the trial.

We step through the doorway, and my attention immediately lands on the course in front of us. It’s a series of raised platforms interspersed with different obstacles. I’ve seen similar on television, but this one seems geared equally toward lower body as upper. There are three pathways from beginning to end, and I examine them in sequence, painfully aware of the large red clock ticking down the seconds to when we begin. “Shoes off.”

Achilles doesn’t question me. He simply obeys, yanking off his shoes and socks. “First route?”

I shake my head. “The jump from the end of that rope will be too tricky to time properly. The second looks faster, but that rope swing on the rail might get stalled out in the middle since it’s so long. Go third.” The climbing wall up won’t be a problem, but descending might. Still, it’s better than the other two. Fewer variables in play, even though it’s technically the longest of the bunch, the course jutting out toward the crowd before doubling back to the finish. Each route has four obstacles of varying difficulty, and there’s the time limit to consider. But surely it’s not that simple?

Even as the thought crosses my mind, people in black file out from the entrance opposite us. They’re all wearing Athena’s uniform, and they have black masks pulled down over their faces. That creates an eerie image, and the crowd shrieks with glee at the sight of them. I sigh. “Of course it wouldn’t be so easy as just getting through the course.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

I take off my shoes and socks. Even though I should be focused entirely on the course, on the opponents filtering through it to key positions where they can most effectively stop the champions, I glance at Helen. She’s got a look of concentration on her face, but she’s staring at the first route. It’s on the tip of my tongue to suggest the third, but I bite back the words. Helen isn’t my priority. She can’t be my priority.

Overhead, only thirty seconds remain. The lights flicker and then turn toward the boxed seats overhead. Athena stands there, watching us. I thought the crowd was loud before. It’s nothing compared to when the spotlight shines on her. The entire arena shakes with the force of their sound.

She holds up a hand, a conductor to their fervor, and they go silent almost immediately. As the seconds tick down to zero, her amplified voice says, “The first trial begins…now.”

Helen

I don’t hesitate. I fling myself forward, veering toward the left side of the course. Each of the routes available is gnarly, especially with the black-clothed opponents lying in wait, but this is my best bet. My upper body strength is great, but the taller champion’s longer legs will give them an advantage on the climbing wall. I have to aim for the shortest route instead. Or, rather, the shortest route that actually makes sense. The middle one is tempting because it’s basically a fancy rope swing, but I don’t like the angle. It’s a trap.

This whole fucking course is a trap.

One of the other champions, a guy I vaguely recognize from my father’s parties, shoves me aside with a laugh and starts across the raised platforms. He barely makes it through three before one of Athena’s people knocks him off. It’s not even a fancy move. They literally shove him and he goes flying, landing on the padded ground with a sound I can’t hear over the roar of the crowd.

“Helen.”

I glance over to find Atalanta standing at my shoulder. She’s fastened her locs back and is wearing a bodysuit of deep silver. She gives me a quick grin, the smile turning her scarred face from merely attractive into striking. “Temporary alliance to get through this?”

I should be able to do it on my own. The whole point of fighting for the title of Ares is so that everyone will be forced to take me seriously. But…I’m no fool. I give a jerky nod. “Through the first trial.”

“Let’s see what you can do.” She hops up onto the first platform, and I follow quickly. She’s quick, she’s strong, and she’s obviously well trained. Even seeing her coming, Athena’s person barely has a chance to tense before Atalanta sweeps their legs out from beneath them and sends them tumbling off the platforms. Then it’s a clear shot to the hanging rope ladder.

I fly over the column platforms in her wake. They’re deceptively far apart, which forces me to slow down, but it’s a small price to pay. I cross them quickly enough and land on the final one below the rope ladder. It sways and I look up in time to see another of Athena’s people dropping down from above.

I lurch back, nearly losing my footing, but manage to course-correct at the last moment. They land in front of me and slowly raise to stand. The all-black uniform, complete with mask, sends a shiver through me. They’re also quite a bit taller than me. That will work in my favor for once.

They lunge, obviously planning to shove me back off the platform. Instinct demands I scramble back, but I plant my feet and duck down just as they reach for me. From there, my muscle memory takes over. I grab their arm and use it as leverage to stand and send them flying past me… Right to the ground.

I don’t wait to watch them land. I’m already scrambling up the ladder after Atalanta. I haul myself to the top of the ladder and loop a leg over, starting down the other side. The majority of the other champions seem to have chosen the third path, and I catch sight of one of Athena’s people moving through a group of them, sending people flying left and right. Five champions eliminated by the time I descend the ladder.

My feet barely touch down on the next platform when I hear it. A loud whoop and a whizzing sound. I turn in time to see Ajax flying along the rope swing in the center route.

Atalanta shakes her head. “What a fool.”

I frown, trying to judge the momentum. “He might make it.” He’s certainly tall enough to force physics to work to his benefit.

“He won’t make it.”

“Neither will we if we don’t keep moving.”

Atalanta and I turn as one to the next obstacle. A series of panels is suspended just close enough that a person could use their feet and hands to wedge themselves along without falling. In theory. The trickiest part is going to be sticking the initial landing and the dismount, which requires jumping from the panels, grabbing a rope, and swinging myself over to the platform. Time it wrong, and I’ll be just as fucked as Ajax. At least I took off my shoes, so I don’t have to worry about the soles of them slipping.

“At least there are no opponents on this one.” There’s no place for them to lie in wait. I look around. We’re the only two left on this route. The rest of the champions are on the third, and it looks like most of Athena’s people have followed them there. Good.

Atalanta rolls her shoulders. “I’ll take the right one.”

It’s slightly wider, which would make it damn near impossible for me to move well. I glance at the taller woman. “Why help me?”

“I don’t need to fuck with you in order to win.” She shoots me a grin. “I’m currying favor with my future wife.” Atalanta blows me a kiss and then jumps, landing with her feet and arms spread to keep her in place in a way that looks effortless. Only the slight shake of her leg muscles betrays her, but that doesn’t stop her from moving forward.

Gods, what am I doing? Checking out her thighs when I’m supposed to be racing.

I shake my head, take a breath, and leap into the left path. The landing vibrates through me, and I slide a few precious inches down toward the empty space below. I grit my teeth and start forward.

As I inch along, I watch Ajax’s momentum slow out of the corner of my eye. He stops a good twenty feet from the final platform and curses, swinging his body back and forth in an attempt to move closer to the platform. It won’t work, but I have my own problems to worry about.

I’m achingly aware of the time ticking down as I move forward. This is so much harder than it looks. I’m in the best shape of my life, but it takes concentration to ensure at least two opposing limbs are pressing against the panels while still moving forward. I grit my teeth and keep going.

I have not come this far to fail now. I have too many motherfuckers to prove wrong. My siblings. Paris. Achilles. Every single person in Olympus who thinks my value begins and ends with the family and face I was born with.

Atalanta is outpacing me, which tempts me to rush, but a single mistake means ruin. I concentrate on breathing as I move down the panel. Step, press, step, press. Over and over again. By the time I reach the end, my body is shaking. I eye the distance I’ll have to cross to reach the rope and swing to the next platform. It looks like miles. I could make it easily if my muscles were still fresh, but I’m exhausted.

“I can do this,” I mutter. It doesn’t matter if I can or can’t, because I don’t have time to waffle. Every second clicking by pushes me closer to ruin, to the time running out or my body giving out.

I leap.

The second my feet leave the panels, I know I’ve misjudged. I hit the rope several feet lower than I planned, too close to the bottom. The rope swings, but I slide down a few more precarious inches, my legs flailing.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The platform is higher than I expected based on where I planned to grab the rope, and my momentum is less than anticipated. It doesn’t matter. I have to jump. I release myself at the pinnacle of the swing and slam into the platform, only my upper body clearing it. My breath whooshes out of me, but I don’t let myself freeze up. If I do, I fall.

I scramble for purchase against the flat surface, but I lose an inch, sliding back toward the floor. Back toward defeat. No, damn it. I have come too far. I’m not going to let a little thing like gravity beat me now. I force myself to go still, to think. If I can get a leg onto the platform…

A dark boot appears in my field of vision, and I look up in horror to find one of Athena’s people standing over me. They raise their foot, obviously intending to kick me in the face. Oh fuck, this is going to hurt.

They never get a chance.

Atalanta appears behind them. At first I think she’s simply going to shove them off the platform, but she’s more of a showwoman than that. She hauls them around and delivers a devastating punch to their face. They go boneless and fall to the platform. Holy shit, she just knocked them out with a single hit.

She grins at the crowd and gives a cheery wave before focusing on me. She leans over, medium-brown skin shining with sweat, and offers me a hand. I shake my head. “I’ve got it.”

“You really don’t.”

I hate that she might be right. My arms quiver, but I shake my head. “I’ve got it.”

She makes an impatient sound, her tone exasperated. “Stop wasting time and take my hand, or I’ll leave you and you’ll fall.”

When she puts it like that, there really is no other choice. I slap my hand into hers and let her pull me up onto the platform. The crowd goes wild in response, the very arena seeming to shake. Atalanta gives me a quick grin, and then I’m in her arms. She doesn’t give me a chance to react before she bends me back into a showy dip and gives me a quick kiss. She sets me on my feet and then she’s gone, racing up the last obstacle, a thick knotted rope that we’ll have to climb to reach the final platform.

There are three ropes, so I hurry to the one in the middle. My arms and legs protest violently at the thought of more, but I’ve worked through that kind of pain more times than I can count. Being a gymnast hurts, sure, but not more than growing up in my father’s house. Really, I’ve been training for this moment my entire life.

I start up the rope, fighting against gravity and my own weakness as I ascend. I’m halfway up when the opponent Atalanta knocked out stumbles to their feet and looks up. I can’t see their face through the black mask, but I feel our eyes meet. They start for my rope, staggering a little. “No,” I whisper.

I did not come this far only to fail now.

I fight against my exhausted muscles, fight against gravity itself, to pull my body up another six inches. It won’t be enough. They’re too tall. They reach the bottom of the rope and jump, grabbing my ankle. The contact almost rips me right off the rope. I slide down a few inches with a shriek that the screams of the crowd swallow up. Another yank rips me clean off the rope.

The platform rushes up to meet me, and I land flat on my face. It hurts. Fuck, it hurts. But if I stay down, I’ll be eliminated, and that isn’t an option. I stagger to my feet, the arena spinning wildly around me. The crowd sounds like a feral beast baying for blood. They want to see me fail. Everyone wants to see me fail.

On the other side of the rope, Athena’s person is climbing to their feet as well. They still don’t look steady, but if they’re anything like Achilles and Patroclus, that won’t make them less dangerous. I’ll only get one shot at this.

I don’t stop to think about all the things that could go wrong. There’s no time for that. I take two quick steps and leap, grabbing the rope. It’s too heavy to swing much, but my momentum works in my favor. I straighten my legs just as my feet make contact with their chest. The impact nearly takes me off the rope again, but it sends them flying off the platform.

There’s no time to savor my victory. I haven’t won yet. Fuck, I haven’t even passed the first challenge yet. A quick glance at the clock has panic seizing me. If I fall again, I won’t get another chance.

Fear gives me strength. I haul myself up, hand over hand, with a speed I would have thought impossible. This time, no one assists me as I reach the final platform and scramble onto it. I look at the clock, barely daring to believe it. I did it. I’m here.

I passed the first trial.

You didn’t do it on your own. You needed help, and everyone saw that you weren’t strong enough.

The voice sounds horrifyingly like my father. I shudder, my chest going tight and throat trying to close. It doesn’t matter that I needed help. I won’t let it matter, even if it means I have to go above and beyond the next time.

All that matters is that I passed this trial, so there will be a next time.

I stretch my arms overhead and concentrate on breathing through the ache in my body. Easier to focus on that than the tumultuous emotions running riot inside me. I force myself to look around and take stock of those on the platform around me. Atalanta is nearby, looking barely winded. From the third route, there are ten people who passed the first trial, among them Hector, Paris, the two strangers…and Achilles and Patroclus.

Despite myself, my attention narrows on the latter two. Of course they made it. I doubt they needed help, either. Even more irritatingly, they both have a fine sheen of sweat on their skin and the sign of exertion only makes them both more attractive. A traitorous little zing jolts my body, and I force myself to look away.

Up to this point, I’ve done my best not to think about what happened yesterday. I can’t believe things got so out of control. I never would have slept with Achilles if I wasn’t already reeling from the events of the last couple of days. If he hadn’t tossed me over his shoulder like I truly was some princess a conquering knight happened across and ripped from her safe tower. If he hadn’t essentially offered himself as the perfect target. Someone to take all my ugly emotions out on without having to worry about the aftermath. I highly doubt I can do a single thing to hurt that man, either emotionally or physically.

He might not have been the safe choice of an outlet, but I can’t deny that he was the perfect one all the same. He took my blows and let me provoke him to do exactly what we both wanted. To fuck me like he hated me. Except…it didn’t entirely feel like that.

I know what it’s like to have sex with someone who hates you. Paris proved that toward the end of our relationship. He hurt me on purpose. Never physically, of course. He’s a gentleman. But he spilled poison into my ear when I was most vulnerable, when my barriers weren’t as strong as normal.

Gods, Helen, if you’re not going to do it right, you can leave and I’ll do it myself.

Sorry that you didn’t come, honey. You’re so damn hard to please.

You keep acting like I’m the problem. Have you ever thought that you’re the only one with an issue in this relationship?

Even when Achilles was tossing me around, even when he was growling at me, I still felt safe in a way I never felt with Paris. I didn’t have to worry about being called a selfish bitch because I was after my own pleasure. Achilles simply took it as fact. More than that, he made sure it was good for me. That orgasm wasn’t feigned, and he didn’t leave it up to me to get myself off. He didn’t act like it was a chore to make sure we both had a good time even while hate fucking, either.

After? Well, I can’t think about after too much. I need to dislike Achilles. He’s standing between me and what I want most in this world. I absolutely cannot afford to soften toward him.

Patroclus glances at me, and the second our eyes meet, guilt swarms me. Having sex with Achilles might or might not have been a mistake on its own, but I can’t help feeling extra bad because Patroclus is involved. I went from flirting with him and coming on to him to sleeping with his boyfriend. It doesn’t matter that they’re in an open relationship. The way I went about things is shitty.

Now’s not the time to think about this, though. Not when Athena is lifting her hands, once again calling for silence in the arena. “Congratulations to the champions who have passed the first trial. The second will begin in two days’ time.”

It’s over.

It seems almost underwhelming to be led down the ladder at the back of the platform and guided toward the exit. We were here less than ten minutes. Ten minutes to decide whether or not our dreams would be stopped short or allowed to continue. It makes me a little sick to my stomach to think about how close I came to elimination. If Atalanta hadn’t helped me…

I could have done it on my own…I think.

As we’re led back to the vans, I don’t miss how Achilles and Patroclus seem determined to keep as far away from me as possible. I’m so busy looking at them, I don’t realize Paris is beside me until he drops an arm around my shoulder. “That was quite the performance you put on, Helen.” He uses my surprise to tug me close.

“Let me go, Paris,” I say quietly. I have to speak quietly because if I start yelling, I might do something I’ll regret, something that will get me eliminated from the tournament. He’s not attacking me, for all that he’s touching me without permission. I have no outward justification to so much as slap him. “Right now.”

He, of course, ignores me. His arm probably doesn’t appear tight from the others’ point of view, but I can’t get away from him without making a scene. “You would have fallen if Atalanta didn’t step in. No matter what you look like—cute getup by the way, even if I prefer you in dresses—you’re the same old Helen. You can’t function without someone there to hold your hand and tell you what to do. It’s okay, honey. I’m more than happy to give you a guiding hand.”

His words sink deep into the raw spots I don’t show anyone. How fucking naive had I been to confess my darkest fears to Paris? He’s never missed a chance to sink the knife in deep and twist it.

He’s wrong, though. My fears are wrong, too.

I’m not helpless. I don’t need a savior. I don’t. It takes everything I have to keep a quiver from my voice, to offer only calm even as panic flutters in my chest. “Get your hands off me or I’ll remove them myself.”

“Do it.” He grins, every inch the charming prince. “I know how you like it rough. Daddy’s little princess in public and my little slut in private.” Words designed to hurt me, to turn something that I thought was a safe space dirty and unclean. I thought we were having fun and playing out fantasies I’d never admitted to anyone. Paris was simply adding more weapons to his arsenal.

My skin prickles and I have to concentrate in order not to drop my gaze. I will not back down from this man, will not let him undermine my confidence in myself, will not let him shame me for something he enjoyed just as much as I did. “Let go.”

“You liked protesting then, too.” He squeezes me tighter. “Keep going. I like it.”

A chill skitters down my spine. This is the scariest thing about Paris. He never actually threatens, hardly ever yells. But his unrelenting determination to see the world his way regardless of evidence to the contrary? His nice-guy smiles even as he’s calmly launching verbal assaults? It’s terrifying.

The panic fluttering in my chest gets stronger, and a little tremor flickers through my tone when I speak. “You don’t have the right to touch me.” Attacking another champion is strictly forbidden and he knows it. He’s using it against me. I try to duck out from beneath his arm, but he tightens his hold. I’m trapped. All the training and all the preparation and I’m held captive in the arms of a man who means me harm. I try to swallow past the way my throat closes. Not again. I will not do this with Paris again. I look around for help, but Achilles, Patroclus, and Atalanta have disappeared into the first van. Hector and the other four champions are nowhere to be seen, and Bellerophon is occupied arguing quietly with the Minotaur and Theseus. There’s no one coming to save me.

Wait.

I don’t need saving.

Godsdamn it, it took Paris all of a minute to slam me right back into the helpless skin I’ve worked so hard to escape. I am not helpless. I am more than capable of saving myself. I turn toward him until we’re nearly chest to chest. “Paris?”

His gaze drops to my lips and his voice deepens. “Yeah?”

I grab his cock in an iron grip and squeeze. He makes a pained noise and tries to jerk back, but I have too good a hold. All he manages to do is hurt himself. My body hides what I’m doing from Bellerophon, which is just as well. This would definitely qualify as an attack. I twist my wrist a little, enjoying the way Paris goes a sickly green. “If you touch me again without my permission, I’ll gut you.”

“Bitch.” His voice is a little too high. “You want to play rough? We’ll play rough.”

I ignore the wave of fear his words bring and twist harder. Hard enough that his knees buckle. “You will never, ever, play with me again, you bastard.”

“You’ll pay for this,” he wheezes.

“No, I won’t. Because you’re not going to win. I am.” I release him and take a quick step back, putting some much-needed distance between us.

He straightens slowly. “Helen.” Gone is the anger, quickly masked behind the charm. He’s always been able to tuck away his negative emotions like that. At least until the rare occasions when they explode without warning. Paris winces a little and smiles as if I just did something clever. “Always so reckless. Always so willing to hurt yourself to hurt me.”

“Shut up.” I realize my mistake the second I say the words. I might as well wave a red flag in front of a bull. Paris loves nothing more than getting beneath my skin.

Sure enough, his smile widens. “Do you really think your brother is going to let someone like you become Ares? Your temper alone will bring down Olympus. You’re not strategic; you never know when to fold or bend. You can’t even pass a simple obstacle course without help, and you think you can direct Olympus’s army? Don’t make me laugh. You’ll make us weak, easy to pick off for our enemies. Enemies like them.” He nods at the van that the two non-Olympians have disappeared into. “If you really want what’s good for the city, you’d step down now.”

Even as I try to come up with a response, his words burrow deep and plant poisonous roots. I am impulsive and reckless. I have been my entire life. How many times have my father, my brother, accused me of the very same thing? If I weren’t reckless and impulsive, I would never have had sex with Achilles last night. I wouldn’t have made a pass at Patroclus. I wouldn’t have done a lot of wild acts I’ve committed over the course of my life when the pressure beneath my skin becomes too much to bear.

I never would have dared attempt to become Ares.

I don’t care. Paris is wrong. He has to be wrong, and I will not let him make me doubt myself. Not ever again. I swallow past the thickness in my throat. “Next time you touch me without permission, I’ll cut off your arm and beat you to death with it.”

“Temper, temper.” He laughs and moves around me to climb into the nearest van.

I’d rather cut off my own arm than follow him, so I turn on my heel and head for the next one down the line. Bellerophon lifts their brows at me. “Problem?”

“Of course not.” I can’t quite manage a smile, so I duck around them and climb into the back of the van.

It’s not until I’m sitting there between the two strangers that I pause long enough to wonder if I’ve made a mistake by picking this van. Then the doors shut, and it’s too late. Damn it. I’m too raw to keep my shit together, practically vibrating out of my skin with feelings I don’t know what to do with. I’m not up to sparring with either of these men, verbally or otherwise.

The one with shorter hair, Theseus, stretches out his big legs and gives me a long look. “Back where I’m from, women know their place.”

Wow, he’s not even going to try to soften me up, is he? Weirdly enough, that’s almost a comfort. I don’t have to be sweet and sunny and political in my response. I blink slowly at him. “That must be so nice for you. Where you come from, do they also offer unsolicited opinions to strangers?”

He smiles briefly, but it’s not a happy look. “You’re not a stranger, though, are you? You’re the prize.”

Thanks for reminding me. I glance at the Minotaur. He watches both of us with an empty look in his blue eyes. Creepy. I give them both a mock sympathetic look. “You don’t stand a chance of winning, and our women know their place is equal to everyone else. Go home before you embarrass yourselves.” I feel sorry for the women in question if he’s telling the truth, but where could he possibly originate from? Mars?

Theseus shakes his head. “You’re proof that Olympus is soft. You and your people have lived in the lap of luxury for so long, you’ve forgotten what it’s like in the real world.”

Cold slithers through me. “I suppose you’re here to teach us the error of our ways. Lucky us.”

“You have quite the mouth on you. We’ll work on that.”

The panic I experienced from that confrontation with Paris comes back—with interest. A single conversation with this man, and he’s quickly competing with my ex for the person I least want to win. It’s more than the threat he poses to me personally; it’s the way he’s calling Olympus soft as if he’ll have an opportunity to change it. Maybe I was too hasty in writing off a coup attempt. We cannot allow either of them to win. I shudder. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

He leans forward, but the Minotaur grunts. Whatever the relationship between these two, that sound is enough to call Theseus off. He leans back and closes his eyes, effectively ending the conversation.

It’s just as well. I feel a bit like cracked glass at the moment. One wrong move will shatter me completely. It doesn’t make any sense. I passed the first trial; I should be ecstatic. I should be celebrating. Instead, I’m fighting the urge to cry.

What in the gods’ names is wrong with me?

I don’t have an answer by the time we arrive back at the dorms. I keep my gaze on the floor as we file back to our respective rooms. It’s only when I close the door between me and the rest of the world that I start to shake. At least I held it together until this moment when I can break down alone.

Which is right around the moment I realize I’m not actually alone.

Hermes and Dionysus lounge on my couch. She’s flipping through channels so quickly, there’s no way she’s registering each one. He’s supine on the couch, his head in her lap while she idly sifts her fingers through his hair.

I should be happy to see them. They’re my friends after all, and I was just thinking about how much I miss them last night when I was all alone and out of sorts. I sigh. I should stop using the word should. It doesn’t matter that they’re my friends, because they’re my friends second. As with my siblings, for Hermes and Dionysus, being a member of the Thirteen comes first. “What are you two doing here?”

“Silly question. We came to see you, bestie.” Hermes clicks off the television and angles her body to face me. Her hair bobs around her head in black ringlets, and she’s wearing bright-pink lipstick that sets off her dark-brown skin and matches her jumpsuit and shoes. Her style is flawless, as always.

Dionysus lets out a faint snore. He’s got on a graphic T-shirt from some band I’ve never heard of and a pair of faded jeans. His mustache is curled perfectly despite the nap, so he’s either faking it or he just fell asleep.

It doesn’t matter. I don’t have the energy for this right now. “I need a shower and a meal before I do anything remotely entertaining.” Not that I can leave the house or property while I’m a champion, but Hermes and Dionysus are more than capable of creating their own entertainment. Especially with the kinds of people the champions are comprised of.

“Oh fine, you caught me.” Hermes rolls her eyes, though she’s still smiling. Enjoying herself at my expense. No reason to take it personally; Hermes enjoys herself at everyone’s expense. “I have a message for you from your brother.”

Disappoint lashes me. Trust my brother to send Hermes in her official capacity instead of coming himself. I try to keep my feelings off my face. “How strange that he couldn’t make the time to have a polite little sit-down with me. It’s enough to make a sister doubt where she stands on his list of priorities.” Kind of like when he makes plans to marry off said sister without consulting her first.

“You know how it is.” She shrugs and starts braiding Dionysus’s hair. It’s short enough that she makes quick work of each braid, but they stand out straight from his head. “Zeus is busy being Zeus. Ruling Olympus, putting out fires, entertaining our out-of-town visitors.” She gives a mischievous smile. “And being married to that Hera is a full-time job on its own.”

I don’t comment on the fact that Hera is the one who suggested I join the tournament in spite of me being the prize. If Hermes doesn’t already know—and how could she?—I’m not about to be the one to tell her. I don’t think she’d run right to my brother with the information, but she likes to keep people on their toes, so I can’t guarantee it.

Besides, I’m certain Callisto’s motivation was simply to stir the pot and cause trouble, even if she indirectly helped me in the process. If Perseus finds out his wife prodded me into this action, it will cause even more drama. No matter her reasons, Callisto did me a favor by snapping me out of my self-pity spiral. I won’t out her. “No one twisted his arm and forced a ring on his finger.” Not like he’s done to me.

“You’d be surprised.” She finishes another braid. “Will you hear the message?”

As if I have a choice. “Yes.”

She clears her throat, and a startling approximation of my brother’s deeper voice emerges from her lips. “You’ve had your fun. It’s over now. Resign before the next trial.”

I wait, but she seems to be finished. “That’s it? Normally he likes to threaten some kind of consequence.”

Hermes shrugs. “He’s a little distracted. The Minotaur and Theseus didn’t come to Olympus alone, and your brother has his hands full dealing with the leader of their little group, Minos.”

Easy enough to read between the lines. Their leader is here, watching me make a fool of my brother and the rest of the Thirteen. It’s undermining Zeus’s authority and doing the exact thing he doesn’t want—making us look weak. More like making him look weak.

Olympus needs a firm hand.

A sliver of regret goes through me. I might want to wring my brother’s neck right now, but even I can admit he’s likely doing the best he can in circumstances not of his own making. He hadn’t thought to take over the title of Zeus for years yet, but our father’s unexpected death changed the whole timeline. I do want Olympus safe and stable.

Maybe I should resign.

My stomach clenches at the thought, but I force myself to consider it. If I resign now… I shake my head. It won’t help. The damage was already done the moment I put my name forward and defied my brother publicly. More, now that I’m directly competing with the Minotaur and Theseus, I can’t afford to do anything but put on a good showing. I’m representing Olympus against their outsiders’ interests. I’m representing my brother, even if he’s furious about it.

I’m a Kasios, after all.

Humiliating me means humiliating him. Resigning now is weak, and it will make him appear weak. He’s not thinking clearly or he’d have realized that on his own. I take a deep breath. “Backing out now won’t change the fact that I participated in the first place. It won’t suddenly make him look better.”

“I don’t know that Zeus is thinking clearly at the moment,” Hermes says, mirroring my thoughts.

I suspect she’s right, but I won’t talk shit about my brother right now, not when he’s in a precarious position and I’m partly to blame. Instead I laugh, loud and giddy and fake. “Sure. As if he’s ever let emotions get the best of him even once in his life.” Even as the lie flies free, guilt pricks. Perseus wasn’t an effusive child, but he felt everything very deeply. Our father saw it as a flaw, a weakness to be exploited by future enemies, and spent most of our childhood carving that softness out of my brother, piece by piece.

Hermes considers me for a long moment, and I find myself holding my breath. I might have been friends with her for years, but in this moment, we stand almost as equals: her one of the Thirteen, me a contender for being a member of the Thirteen as well. She finishes a braid and sits back. “Are you sure about this?”

“Please inform my brother that while I appreciate his request, I’m seeing this through.”

“Will do.” Hermes pats Dionysus’s chest. “Time to go, love.”

He opens his eyes, blinking at me. “Hey, Helen. When did you get here?”

“Hey.” I manage a tired smile. “Have a nice nap?”

“Always do.” He sits up and stretches. The little braids in his hair give him the look of a startled bird. “Good show on the obstacle course. We’re rooting for you.”

“Thanks.” I don’t know what else to say. These are my friends, but if—when—I win this tournament, the dynamic of our relationship will have to change. I’ll be one of the Thirteen, too. I wave a tired hand at them. “Are you sticking around?”

“Nope.” Hermes jumps to her feet. “The night is young, and we’re off to have fun.”

Dionysus takes my hands and presses a kiss to each of my cheeks. “She means we’re off to get some of Minos’s people drunk and see what information we can mine from them.”

That pulls a laugh from me. “All in a day’s work.” I don’t tell them to be careful. Despite outward appearances, both Dionysus and Hermes are more than capable of taking care of themselves. And each other. Beyond that, this is part of Dionysus’s specialty. He might play the fool in public, but he didn’t win his title by accident. He’s got a cunning mind behind that ridiculous mustache.

I walk them out and lock the door behind them. Only then do my shoulders slump, weighed down by all the things both said and unsaid. No one believes I can pull this off. Not my enemies. Not my family. Not even my friends. No matter what words they mouth, they’re all waiting for me to fail. They’re sure of it.

I turn away from the door and plod down the hall with heavy steps. I need a shower and about eight hours of sleep.

Maybe the world will make sense in the morning.

Achilles

“Stop hovering.”

I swallow my frustration and pace another lap around the living room. “I’m not hovering.” I am hovering. I have been since we got back to the rooms. I want to blame it on all the adrenaline with no output. That trial was too damn short, even with the opponents causing snags along the way. If I’d just been able to work hard, to expel some more energy, maybe I’d be able to settle down now.

Patroclus sighs and sets down his e-reader. He’s got glasses perched on the end of his nose, and he looks so adorably nerdy, I want to kiss him. Too bad trying would probably mean a black eye with how pissed he is right now. It’s not often my man gets riled, but when he does, it takes a long time for him to work through it. I have no one but myself to blame for the current shitstorm.

He gives me a long look. “You’re getting what you want. Why are you so upset?”

I hate it when he does this. Instead of admitting just how furious he is, he turns it around and talks to me as if I’m the one being ridiculous. It’s patronizing in the extreme, one of Patroclus’s shittier habits. The fact that he’s right only irritates me more. “I fucked up. Why don’t you just like…yell? Throw something? Fuck, punch me if it will make you feel better.”

“That’s abuse.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Then talk to me. Stop icing me out.” He’s barely spoken six words to me since last night. I hate it when he does this; he’s sitting in front of me, but he might as well be on another planet for all I can reach him. These kinds of fights don’t happen often, but when they do, they drive home how different we are. It serves as a reminder that one day Patroclus will get tired of my shit and ice me out permanently.

Not this time.

Not yet.

Please, gods, not yet.

“I’m sorry. I said I’m fucking sorry. I’ve said it a dozen times. What else do you want from me?” It’s not a fair ask, and we both know it, but I’m so frustrated, I want to shred something.

“Do you regret having sex with Helen?”

I start to say yes, but he’ll know if I lie because I’m shit at it. I hate lying. I’d rather keep my mouth shut and say nothing at all than lie. Neither is an option under his intense look. “No.” Gods help me but I don’t hate her as much as I thought I would, and I can’t blame the orgasm on that shift. She’s nothing like I expected, and yet somehow also everything that I expected. I don’t really get it, but I’m intrigued all the same.

And the sex was so fucking good. It was intense and a little terrifying, but I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again. When I become Ares and she becomes my wife, it’s almost a certainty.

“Which means you will do it again.” He considers me for a long moment. “And if I said I want to sleep with her…” Even as I try not to tense, I can feel my body locking up. Patroclus nods slowly. “Yeah, I thought so. You’re a fucking hypocrite.”

“I’ve been called worse.” Worse has been true, too.

“I know.” He picks up his e-reader again. “I am still angry with you. I can’t just snap my fingers and get over it, even if you’re not happy that I’m angry. It’s not how emotions work.”

There he goes being patronizing again. I exhale harshly. “I know how emotions work, Patroclus.”

He doesn’t look up. He just adjusts his glasses and leans back against the couch. “I need some time. I thought I’d made my peace with your pending nuptials, but I have to work through my side of it because it’s significantly more real now that Helen is more than just a theory.”

My stomach drops. Is it happening? Is this the end? It’s come at me too fast, too out of left field. I swallow hard. “What does that mean?”

“I love you.” He taps his e-reader, turning the page. “One fight doesn’t change how I feel, and it doesn’t change the plan. Just…give me time, Achilles.”

That’s the problem. If his impressive brain gets going on this tangled situation, he might decide that the end of this tournament is the end of our relationship. I know it’s selfish as fuck to want to keep him even while I’m married to someone else. It’s even more selfish now that I’ve had sex with Helen and there’s a distinct possibility of it happening again no matter what protests I make. Most of all, it’s damn near unforgivable that I can’t stand the thought of him and Helen together without me in the picture. No matter which way I look at it, we’re no longer speaking about a political marriage of convenience. Now it’s messy. It’s my fault, but there’s no easy fix for this.

Damn it.

“I’ll give you time, then.” The words come out dull. I turn and walk out the door. I’m too restless to try to sleep yet—if I’ll be able to sleep at all—so I head down the hall. Wandering the dark is something I used to do when I was a kid. Back then, I didn’t sleep a lot. It was a game, a way to battle my deep fear of the dark. The monsters can’t hurt what they can’t see, hear, sense. It wasn’t like the orphanage was bad or anything. I don’t know if any of the last Zeus’s Heras even bothered to mess with it, but the people in charge were nice enough. It wasn’t like the movies say. No one was trying to touch me or abuse me or use me for experiments to summon a demon or some shit.

Still, no matter how Ms. Hebe tried to ensure we were being raised as well adjusted as possible, sometimes the nights were…rough. Wandering the place after dark helped. Movement has always helped me.

It’s been a long time since I felt the compulsion, though. I don’t worry about the shit I can’t see anymore. I see what I need to, and I’m not the same scared little kid I was back then. I’m a warrior. There’s nothing life can throw at me that I can’t handle.

Or so I thought.

I’ve had Patroclus at my side since we were enlisted in Ares’s security forces at eighteen. His moms thought it would be good for him, with the structure and physicality and all. I had a chip on my shoulder and something to prove. I know everyone thinks we’re too different; they thought it back then, too. But even as teenagers, we just…clicked.

I don’t know what I’d do without him. Even though part of me always thought eventually Patroclus would move on to someone who stressed him out less, most of me never believed it would happen. Now, the possibility is all too real.

It’s late enough that the house is deserted, everyone in their beds and keeping out of trouble. Bellerophon or their people will have clocked my movement, even without me turning on the lights. They’re too good to let people get into trouble after dark. I’m not interested in getting into trouble, though. I just want to expel some of this awful feeling churning in my gut.

I’ve fucked things up. I knew that the moment I came out of the haze of lust on the floor next to Helen. Even then, though, I half convinced myself that Patroclus would roll with this the same way he rolls with all my other bullshit. Wishful thinking.

I see the way he looks at her.

He’s never looked at anyone like that…except for me.

I wish I could claim I slept with her solely because I wanted to and not because I was jealous of her and Patroclus. I wish I wasn’t that big of an asshole to do something so selfish just to keep them away from each other. Even when he’s fucked other people, it’s been all in good fun or satisfying a curiosity. He’s never watched someone walk across the room with a longing I can fucking feel even from a few feet away. He’s only been in close contact with Helen as an adult for a few days. How much stronger will that get in a week? In a few months after we’re married?

If he falls in love with her…

Yeah, I’m an asshole. I want to have my cake and eat it, too, and it’s not fucking fair. If I’d slowed down long enough to think about it, I’d like to pretend I would have made different choices. But then, I don’t like lying, do I?

I huff out a breath and open the sliding glass door to the back patio. The heat of the day has cooled, and the night air feels good against my skin. It doesn’t bring any clarity, though. This situation is so fucked up, and I’m to blame for a large slice of the pie. I know that, but it doesn’t mean I’m comfortable stewing over the mess I made. I’m a creature of action. Why sit around and twiddle your thumbs when you can do something about it?

Too bad there’s nothing to be done right now.

Patroclus doesn’t want to see my face again tonight, and talking to Helen isn’t going to change a single damn thing…

I hesitate. It might not change anything, but it’s still true that I don’t feel particularly good about how we left things yesterday. She seemed really unconcerned with the whole thing, but she’s a Kasios; she’ll have learned to lie from birth. Fuck. I should have remembered that. Patroclus would have remembered that, would have pushed for the truth instead of taking her at her word that sex was just sex and I wasn’t too rough with her.

I glance up at the sky. It holds no answers, but I’m not going to be able to sleep now. Maybe she’s still awake. We can talk or fight or whatever. Maybe she’ll actually be honest with me for once, and at least that part of this clusterfuck will be resolved.

Action plan in place, I turn and walk back into the dorm. It’s just as silent, just as dark this time, but I move faster, surer. I had the floor plan memorized the first night; it pays to know where the exits are, just in case. Working damn near ten years for Athena taught me that you never know when you might need one.

Back in our hallway, there’s still a light shining from beneath Patroclus’s door…but not Helen’s. I almost turn for mine, but I haven’t come this far to stop before I at least try to talk to her. I’m about to knock when I hear a thump on the other side.

There’s absolutely no reason for the small hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. This is one of Athena’s buildings, and our people have secured it. We’re the best. The champions are safer than Zeus himself. Helen probably just ran her shin into the coffee table or something.

All the rationalization in the world doesn’t change my instincts screaming that something is wrong. I’ve been a soldier since I turned eighteen. At twenty-two, Athena herself took me under her wing and taught me to trust the very instincts she’s spent years honing. I can’t walk away until I’m sure I’m wrong.

I try the door, and the handle turns easily against my palm. What the fuck? Something is definitely wrong. The time for hesitation is gone. I shove through the door and into Helen’s suite. The room is bathed in shadows, lit only by a single standing lamp next to the couch. That light is enough to catch sight of someone ducking into the door leading to Helen’s bedroom.

Someone damn near six feet tall with broad shoulders.

Someone who is not Helen Kasios.

I’m moving before I fully process the stranger’s presence, a decade’s worth of training and muscle memory kicking in. I rush down the hall on silent feet and shove through the door in time to see the figure standing over Helen’s bed.

A flash of metal in the moonlight. I can’t tell if it’s a gun or a knife, but it doesn’t fucking matter. I’m not thinking anymore. I’m reacting.

I throw myself at the attacker, wrapping one hand around their wrist as I tackle them to the floor away from the bed. They curse in a low voice and then the fight is on. They roll us, managing to come out on top. I’ve got a shitty grip on their wrist so I can’t force them to break their grasp on the weapon.

They jerk their arm down, breaking my grip, and scramble off me to stand. With the black clothing and black mask, they almost look like one of the opponents we faced today. All they’re missing is the owl on their shoulder. But this is not one of Athena’s people. I’d stake my life on it.

I barely get to my feet when they charge. This time, I’m ready. Going unarmed against a knife-wielding opponent isn’t exactly the best-case scenario, but it’s not outside my skill set. I dodge at the last moment, sliding my body just far enough out of the way to avoid the blade and grabbing their arm.

I’m so busy focusing on the knife that I don’t see their fist until they punch me in the face with it. It’s a good punch, so good I see stars for a half a second, which is all they need to kick my legs out from beneath me. I land on the floor with them straddling me, the knife still in their hand.

I react on pure instinct, getting my hands up around their wrist and stopping the blade mere inches from my chest. Fuck, they’re strong. They lean down hard on the knife, putting all their weight behind it, and it descends another inch.

What a ridiculous fucking way to die. Saving Helen Kasios from a godsdamned assassin. When Patroclus finally joins me in the underworld, he’ll never let me live it down.

A dull thump and the assassin goes limp on top of me. I’m so surprised, I shove them up before I realize what happened. Helen stands over us, a lamp in her hands and a fierce look on her face. I blink. She just…hit the attacker over the head. She saved me. Isn’t that a kick in the pants?

She goes to bring the lamp down again, but I throw a hand out. “Wait!”

“Fuck off! They have a knife!”

“We need to question them.” I grab the knife and toss it away. “We need to tie them up and go get Bellerophon.”

She hesitates long enough that I belatedly realize I’m not talking to one of my subordinates. No matter how well she accounted for herself in the first trial, Helen is not trained in combat, and this is probably the first dangerous situation she’s ever found herself in. Fuck.

“Helen.” I try to keep my voice low and even, the way Patroclus would, as I shove the assassin to the floor and yank their arms behind them so I can keep them pinned even after they wake up. “Take a breath.”

“I’m fine.” Her unsteady tone makes a liar out of her. She’s trying, though. I admire that despite myself.

“That was quick thinking with the lamp.” I adjust my hold on the assassin’s wrists. “Pretty sure you saved my life. Thanks.”

“Just returning the favor,” she says faintly. She gives herself a shake. “Bellerophon. Right. I’ll call them.”

I watch her as she staggers to the phone by the bed and picks it up. If she passes out or something, I’m not going to be able to do a damn thing about it without releasing the attacker, and that’s not an option. But Helen manages to keep it together as she speaks into the phone, giving a quick rundown of what just happened. “Yes, please hurry.” She hangs up and drops down to sit on the bed. Neither of us speak in the thirty seconds it takes Bellerophon and their people to all but bust down the door.

They rush into the bedroom and flip on the lights, already issuing orders. “Secure the attacker and transport them off the property, and do it quietly. Athena will want an update immediately.” They turn to us. “Achilles and Helen, please wait a moment and then I’ll speak with you in the living room.”

I don’t offer to help. They have things well in hand…except for the fact that there’s a godsdamned assassin on the property. “How the fuck did this happen, Bellerophon? This place is supposed to be secure.”

“I plan on figuring that out,” they snap.

I move out of the way while their people slap zip ties on the attacker and haul them to their feet. They’re a white dude with nondescript features, short dark hair, and narrow blue eyes. They blink blearily, taking in the room and everyone in it. I tense, ready for them to say some shit, but they only glare silently at us as Bellerophon’s people haul them out of the room.

Bellerophon makes a face. “I have to call Athena. Give me two minutes.”

“Yeah. No problem.” I watch them leave and exhale slowly. Things happen fast in combat situations, but I’d come to Helen’s door prepared for a tough conversation and ended up in a fight for my life. I glance at her. She’s got that thousand-mile stare going on. Shit. I drop down onto the bed next to her. “You good?”

“No.”

Her honesty surprises me. I would have thought she’d try to play it cool even though I can feel the bed vibrating with the force of her shaking. I twist to face her. She’s gone even paler than normal. I’m pretty fucking sure I can hear her teeth chattering. “Helen—”

“I’ll be okay in a minute.” Even her voice sounds wrong, thready and weak. “Just…just give me a fucking minute.”

“You just had a scare of a lifetime. No one’s expecting you to waltz through an attempt on your life without, uh, having an emotional reaction. It’s okay to fall apart.”

“It’s really not.” She stiffens. “And I’m not falling apart. It’s adrenaline letdown. I’m fine.”

Fuck, I’m terrible at this. I always, always say the wrong thing no matter how hard I try. Patroclus would know words that would put her at ease and reassure her. I’m better at action. With that in mind, I reach over, pick her up, and set her on my lap. She makes an angry hissing sound, but she doesn’t immediately punch me in the face.

“You’re safe.” There. That’s nice and neutral. When she doesn’t try to move, I wrap my arms around her. Even precious princesses find hugs comforting, right?

Slowly, breath by breath, she relaxes against me. That, more than anything, tells me how fucked she is in the head right now. She should be fighting and clawing and running her mouth, but instead, she’s shaking like a kitten. My chest gives an uncomfortable lurch, and I hug her a little tighter. “You’re safe,” I repeat.

“Funny, but waking up to someone trying to kill you doesn’t exactly translate to safe.” She rests her head against my shoulder. “I still don’t like you. I think.”

“I don’t really like you, either. Much.”

She exhales slowly. “I don’t know why you’re in my room right now, but thank you for being here. I…” A little shake rocks her body. “Just…thank you.”

The door opens and Bellerophon walks back inside. They don’t comment on my holding Helen, which is just as well. I don’t know what I’d say in response. Instead, they assume an at-ease posture. “We’re still not sure how they got in, but we should have answers by morning.”

Another little shake from Helen. “Forgive me if that’s not comforting.”

If they don’t know how this person got in, there’s nothing to stop others from doing the same. The thought leaves me cold. I might not like Helen—much—but I don’t want her dead. “You’ll stay in my room.”

She tenses. “That’s not necessary.”

“Yeah, I kind of think it is.” I nod at Bellerophon, who’s watching us with a carefully blank look on their face. “They’re going to be occupied dealing with this and patrolling. Plus, I think you’d rather have me as a babysitter than some stranger.”

“You’re barely more than a stranger.” But she makes no move to get up. As much as I want to press, I’ve learned at least a little patience from being around Patroclus for so many years. Sometimes, the best way to win an argument is to sit down and shut up and let them see that you’re being logical. I’m rarely the logical one, but it’s been known to happen once in a blue moon. I know I’m right this time.

It takes Helen roughly thirty seconds to realize the same thing. “Fine. I’m willing to stay in your room.”

The breath I release isn’t in relief. It’s really not. I sure as fuck wouldn’t be losing sleep worrying about her if she hadn’t agreed to this. I give her one last squeeze and set her on her feet. “Get your shit, princess. Time to switch rooms.”

Patroclus

I’m still at war with myself when someone knocks on my door. I recognize Achilles’s brisk impatience and bite back a sigh. I hate fighting at much as he does, but I can’t just turn off my feelings because they’re inconvenient. Obviously I don’t want to be this twisted up when we need to be focused, but nothing about this situation with Helen is logical. Not my attraction to her. Not Achilles’s attraction to her. Not either of our jealousy.

I don’t understand it. I doubt I’ll get the opportunity to even try now.

I open the door and stop short. Achilles, quite frankly, looks like shit. It’s more than the exhaustion on his face. He looks like he just came to my room after being in a brawl. His shirt is torn, his hair is askew, and I’m nearly certain someone punched him in the face.

Dear gods, don’t tell me he slept with Helen again.

I swallow hard, tasting bile and jealousy. “What happened to you?”

He blinks. “What?”

“You look…” I stop myself before I accuse him. It’s not fair to jump to conclusions, even if logically it’s impossible to divorce him showing up at my door looking like this from the last time he did, from what he confessed immediately upon my letting him into my room. I finally try for a neutral enough question. “Who punched you?”

“Who punched…” He touches the spot and winces. “I forgot they landed a strike. Sloppy of me.”

My stomach drops. This isn’t a confession. This is something else. I straighten. He only left my room an hour or two ago. What trouble could he have possibly gotten up to in that time? Obviously more than I could have anticipated. He wasn’t brawling with the other champions; he’s too focused on Ares to get baited into a fight, and even if he did, he would already have been dragged from the dorms. He wasn’t with Helen, or he would still have that kicked-puppy guilty look on his face. “Achilles, what the fuck is going on?”

“Someone tried to kill Helen.”

“What?”

“I was going to her room to apologize and caught them about to attack her. Bellerophon is getting answers.”

Shock lances me. The words don’t make any sense. Someone tried to kill Helen? And Achilles was there and… I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and force myself to focus. “Did you recognize them?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “White guy, the sort of looks that are instantly forgettable. But they weren’t one of Athena’s, and they weren’t on any list we have of problems.”

Athena keeps an ongoing list of people who are considered dangerous in Olympus. Not the normal kind of danger that the Thirteen or the powerful families can bring. Her list is filled with people who are either loose cannons or willing to cross all sorts of lines with the right amount of money involved. If I’d had to take bets about the attacker’s identity, it would be on that list.

That it’s not… “That’s going to be a problem.” Unknowns can throw everything into a tailspin, especially during an event as important as this tournament.

“Yeah. I know.” He shifts from foot to foot. “That’s actually not why I’m here, though. She’s freaked out and won’t admit it, so she’s staying in my room tonight.”

It’s already happening. He’s already moving on with her.

I shut the irrational thought down. My fears don’t make sense. His moving Helen into his room does. If we were trying to secure someone after an attack, this is exactly the proper protocol to follow. The fact that he had sex with her a little more than twenty-four hours ago is immaterial. Except it doesn’t feel immaterial. “You’ll both stay here,” I find myself saying. “It will be easier to protect her if it’s both of us.”

Achilles studies my expression. For once, he’s not jumping into action. I hate that we’re moving so tentatively around each other, but I don’t know how to fix it. I can’t shut off my emotions any more than Achilles can shut off his ambitions. Maybe if we weren’t all piled on top of one another from this tournament and stuck in this building, it would be easier to navigate the thorny situation. I don’t know. All I know is that the thought of either Achilles or Helen in danger makes me break out in a cold sweat.

He finally exhales in a rush. “You sure?”

No, but I’m not about to let that stop me. “Yes.”

For a moment, I think he might press me on my answer. I don’t know what I’ll say if he does. This situation is so damned messy. I probably should have anticipated it, but I’m quickly learning that some variables are beyond comprehension. “Then you come to us. We’ve already hauled all her shit in there, and she’s unpacking now.” He makes a face. “She’s a lot like you when it comes to living out of a suitcase, apparently.”

“Okay.” It will give me some time to process, to get my head on straight. “I’ll be over shortly.” I wait for him to leave and then start the process of repacking. It gives my hands something to do, and my mind races ahead. I can’t deal with thinking about Achilles and Helen and what he was doing in her room to stop that attacker. Apologizing, he said. Achilles doesn’t lie, so that must be what it was. I hate the doubt that worms through me.

Better to focus on the larger problem at hand.

Who wants Helen dead?

Zeus and Aphrodite are her siblings. Hermes and Dionysus are her friends. Hades isn’t the type to send an assassin, no matter what the greater population believes. Athena wouldn’t do it, not during a public tournament where the champions are under her protection. I doubt she wants another Kasios at the table, but she has no reason to believe Helen will be victorious, not with Achilles in the mix.

The others? Harder to say. Artemis isn’t above murder, though she’s careful to keep her hands clean publicly. The same can be said of Apollo, though I wouldn’t put money on him being a possibility. Hephaestus is a harder read. He’s smart and strategic, and he might have looked ahead and decided not to take his chances with Helen becoming Ares. I don’t think our new Hera has that kind of power, but her mother, Demeter, might. Poseidon rarely concerns himself with power plays and politics, so he won’t be bothered one way or another.

And that’s just the Thirteen.

There are dozens of powerful families who weigh the push and pull of Olympus politics and make moves behind the scenes. Paris and Hector belong to one of them. So do Atalanta and Ajax. So do I.

And then there are the non-Olympians. It doesn’t seem logical that they would be behind this, though. If you’re going to waste the resources on an assassin, why not take out one of the more dangerous competitors? Achilles or Hector or even me would be a smarter target. No matter how determined Helen is, when it comes to the combat trials, she’ll be eliminated. She simply doesn’t have the training or the strength to beat out all the major players.

By the time I have my things back in the suitcase to change rooms, I still have no answers. I can’t even effectively narrow down potential candidates. It’s not my job to. Not this time. Bellerophon and Athena will take care of it, starting with questioning the attacker. I have the utmost faith in them.

I’d rather be chasing this mystery than walking through Achilles’s door, but there’s no other option. No matter how messy my chest is right now, the fact remains that he needs me, and I won’t hesitate to be there for him. We’ve done bodyguard duty more than a few times over the years, and it’s best scheduled in pairs so someone is always awake with the client. As tonight proves, assassins don’t usually stick to business hours. We can’t discount the possibility of there being more in play, so vigilance has to start tonight.

I take a breath and open the door.

The first thing I see is Helen, wrapped up in a blanket on the couch. Every time I’ve interacted with her, even when she was obviously out of sorts on the treadmill, even when we were both children, she’s seemed larger than life. That presence is nowhere in evidence now. It’s so easy to forget how small she is. Athletic, yes, but she’s barely five six, if that. Right now, with her huddled on the couch, she seems even smaller. If the attacker was my size, or Achilles’s, she wouldn’t have stood a chance.

The thought leaves me cold.

She looks up and blinks those amber eyes at me. She’s paler than normal, her perfect features drawn and exhausted. Even her hair is a bit of a mess, the dark strands tangled with sleep. She still smiles when she sees me, a little movement that seems almost fragile. “Hey.”

My heart starts racing, which is the most ridiculous response. I should be worried about her safety or her proximity to Achilles or something. Instead, I’m standing here, trying to pretend my palms aren’t sweating because she’s smiling like she’s happy to see me.

I clear my throat. “Hey.”

She pulls the blanket a little more firmly around her. “He roped you into this, too?”

“I offered to help.” I set my suitcase down. Now that I’m here, I’m realizing I didn’t need to repack things. I could have just popped over to the other room to change and get ready each day. That would be the logical thing to do, instead of spending time and energy repacking and unpacking to move across the hall. Another clear indication that I’m not thinking clearly. Damn it.

Achilles comes out of the bedroom. “Two ways in and out. The window in the bathroom opens, but it’s not big enough for an adult to get through. The bedroom’s going to be a problem, though. The window is practically a door, and the lock is bullshit. It’s an access point we can’t secure properly.”

Which means one of us will have to be in there with her.

I hate how my stomach drops. I must have a masochistic streak, because volunteering to put myself in close proximity with these two already stings. I don’t know what prompted Achilles to offer to have her stay with him instead of bringing in a pair of Bellerophon’s people as bodyguards. Sometimes, I have no idea how that man’s mind works. No, that’s a lie. I know exactly what he was thinking. He probably decided we’d do a better job of things than anyone else. This was already complicated, and we just made it even more so.

It’s too late to change our minds, though. “I’ll take first watch.”

For a second, I think he might argue, but he finally nods. “Works for me. The couch is comfortable enough.”

“It’s really not,” Helen mutters.

He shrugs. “I’ve slept in worse places.” Achilles studies her for a long moment. Does he realize how transparent his expression is? He keeps saying he doesn’t like her, but he looks at her like she’s this strange creature he doesn’t understand and yet wants to keep safe. He’s always had a desire to protect those who can’t protect themselves, but this is different. Finally, he says, “You want to talk about it?”

“What’s there to talk about?”

Another shrug. His casual body language doesn’t match the intent look in his eyes. “Most people get shaken up after being attacked. Have some shit on their mind.”

“I’m not most people.”

I should say something, but it feels like they’re having a moment I’m barely part of. My feet stay planted, and my mouth feels sealed shut.

“Yeah, you’re right. You’re not most people.” Achilles nods, and his expression goes devastatingly gentle. “Go to bed, princess. You can get back to fighting everyone who looks at you sideways tomorrow.”

Her smile firms up a little, losing the fragile element. “I don’t fight everyone who looks at me sideways, Achilles. I just fight you.”

“Guess I’m special, then.”

“Guess you are.”

I turn away, unable to bear witness to what feels like such an intimate moment. To be reminded of the future I’m destined for, to be perpetually on the outside looking in. Easier to busy myself hauling my suitcase into the bedroom and making quick work of unpacking it again. Staying in motion is usually Achilles’s go-to, but I’ve never appreciated it as much as I do now. The rhythm of unpacking calms me, even if it doesn’t soothe the ache in my chest.

I’m nearly done when Helen walks into the room. She’s obviously just come from the shower, her skin dewy and flushed, her hair wet and slicked back from her face. She’s wrapped up in the blanket again, but I get a hint of a silky pajama strap over one smooth shoulder. I focus on her face, but there’s no reprieve for me there. She’s too fucking beautiful and somehow only seems to get more so every time we interact. It’s not fair.

How am I supposed to keep my heart intact and my head on straight when she looks at me like this?

She sits carefully on the bed and offers me a tentative smile. “You really are type A, aren’t you? Everything in its place.”

“Yeah.” No reason to deny it. It’s the truth. Being organized makes me feel a modicum of control over a world where I will never be a big fish. Power isn’t something I’ve craved for myself, not like Achilles has, but being close to him means his big moves make big waves sometimes. I’ve mostly learned to surf them, but occasionally the stress gets to me. Organizing soothes me the same way planning and strategizing does.

Helen looks a little better than she did in the living room. She’s regained her color, and she’s not huddling in on herself anymore. Still, I can’t help asking, “Are you okay?”

“I’m getting there.” She tucks her feet up under the blanket. She seems younger like this, more vulnerable. More like the girl I used to know. I don’t know how to deal with it. I want to wrap her up and protect her, but I already know her well enough to realize that she won’t accept it. It’s honestly a little shocking that Achilles managed to get her to agree to staying in his suite. He probably steamrolled her when she was feeling off-center. He’s good at that.

“You’re safe here. We won’t let anyone touch you.”

“I’m getting that impression.” Helen sighs and looks at me directly. “You’re upset with me.”

“Why would I be upset with you?” The words come out too quickly, too harshly.

Her smile goes a little sad, a little bittersweet. “Because I had angry sex with Achilles.”

“We have an open relationship.” Again, the right words. Again, the wrong tone.

“That’s what I told myself, but it doesn’t mean I was in the right.” She huddles further under the blanket, but she doesn’t drop my gaze. I respect that, even though I’d be able to think a lot clearer if she wasn’t looking directly at me. “It wasn’t like I set out to do it, but intentions don’t really matter. Actions do. I’m sorry.”

They both keep saying sorry as if that changes what happened, and I have a feeling that they’d both do it again if the circumstances lined up. And why not? They haven’t done anything wrong or violated any agreement. I’m the fool who let my feelings get tangled up with a woman I barely know. I have never, not once, reacted to Achilles being with someone else the way I’m reacting to him being with Helen. It’s a me problem, not a them problem.

The logic makes sense in my head.

What comes out of my mouth is something else entirely. “That’s not going to stop you from doing it again.”

She blinks. “I have no intention of fucking Achilles again.”

“You had no intention of fucking him the first time.”

“You’ve got me there.” She fiddles with the edge of the blanket. It strikes me that this is the first time I’ve seen Helen fidget. “He’s irritating, isn’t he?”

I try not to bristle, but I can’t help it. Fuck, I’m a mess right now. “He’s a lot of things.”

“Yeah.” Her expression goes contemplative. “I don’t want to hurt you, Patroclus. I never did. I’ll try really, really hard not to fall on Achilles’s cock again.”

I shake my head and stalk to the window. Achilles is right; it’s impossible to secure properly. It’s large, and while it doesn’t face the fence, it would be all too easy for someone to perch on the roof across from us and shoot her through the glass. I shut the curtains. “You’ll be safe tonight. Hopefully we’ll have some answers tomorrow.”

“Why are you doing this?”

I turn to face her. “What?”

“This.” She motions vaguely at the room. “I’m a big, glaring problem between you and Achilles, which is reason enough to want to put distance between me and both of you. But we’re also competing for Ares. It’s in your best interest to let the attacker scare me off. So why help me? It can’t be because we were friends a lifetime ago. Why try to make me feel safe when it runs counter to your goals?”

That’s a good damn question. If I were more ruthless, maybe I’d do exactly that. I don’t want Helen hurt, but fear never killed anyone. That’s the problem, though. I don’t want her afraid, either. Achilles has always accused me of having too soft a heart, and it’s never been more apparent than right now. Even though it fucking hurts to have both of them in the same space, to see their obvious connection, I can’t hurt her to save my own feelings. “I’m not willing to stand by while people are terrorized just to reach my goals.”

“That’s naive, don’t you think?”

I stare. She’s not being snarky. She’s asking a serious question. “There’s always another way.”

“Even if there’s another way, sometimes it’s easier to be the bad guy and save yourself the trouble in the future.” She doesn’t look away. “You’re very smart. You must have played out all the scenarios. If I make it to the final trial, whoever eliminates me will earn my enmity forever. If it’s you or Achilles, that will endanger your ability to act effectively as Ares. Surely you’ve considered this.”

I have. I don’t know why it’s surprising that she has as well. She’s more than proven herself to be as intelligent as she is ambitious. It’s still strange to have my own thoughts mirrored back at me. I clear my throat. “There’s always another way,” I repeat.

“But—”

“Go to sleep, Helen. I’m sure Bellerophon will have information tomorrow.”

For a second, she looks like she might argue with me, but she finally drops the blanket and crawls up to climb under the covers. Her black pajama set is… Holy fuck, I shouldn’t be staring, but I can’t stop. The sleep shorts are split up the sides to reveal tantalizing glimpses of her hips. And that tank top barely covers the essentials, riding up to reveal her toned stomach and pressing tightly enough to her breasts that they’re in danger of escaping. She’s not trying to be seductive, and yet seduction is there in every move she makes.

I jerk my gaze away. What the fuck am I doing? Ogling her after she’s just had a traumatic experience. Ogling her after she slept with Achilles. Ogling her when she’s not for me, has never been for me.

“Patroclus?”

The tentativeness in her tone brings me back to myself. I give myself a shake and cautiously look at her. Thankfully, Helen is fully covered now, the blankets pulled up to her pointed chin. I breathe what I hope is a soundless sigh of relief. “Yeah?”

“The bed is huge and you’re making me nervous standing there. Can you sit or lie down or something?”

I almost choose the chair by the window. I even take a step in that direction before my brain decides to provide all the reasons Helen might have suggested I take the bed, too. I discard the ridiculous ones—she intends to ambush me, or she intends to seduce me. The most likely motivation is because she’s still scared out of her mind and my proximity would be a comfort.

I try not to look into the request. She’s already proven herself to be intelligent and strategic. It’s logical that she would believe one of Athena’s people wouldn’t want her dead, even a fellow champion. That’s all.

Still… “Are you sure?”

She nods and reaches a pale arm out to pat the bed next to her. “Please.”

I gingerly sit on the indicated spot and inch back to lean against the headboard. The bed is plenty big enough for both of us and probably Achilles too… I pause. No. Following that thought to its inevitable conclusion is a mistake. Even so, it surprises me when Helen scoots over until she’s nearly pressed against me. I’m over the covers and she’s under them, but I can feel the heat coming off her body. Or maybe that’s the overactive imagination I seem to be developing on the spot.

I clear my throat, desperate to focus on anything but the fact that Helen Kasios and I are in a bed together. I am on bodyguard duty. The only thing I should be thinking about is keeping her safe, not how good she looks in her sexy little pajamas.

In desperation, I say the only thing I can think of. “Who would want you dead?”

“I can think of a few people.” Did she inch closer? I can’t be certain. I can’t see her face properly in the deep shadows cast from the lamp behind the bed. “No one’s really happy I’m participating in this tournament. We’re also operating under some rather large assumptions that they wanted me dead instead of just scared enough to drop out.”

I start to protest, but she’s right. “Are you considering dropping out?”

“Fuck no. This is the only chance I have to be something other than a prize to be passed around as best suits my brother and future spouse. If I’m Ares, they have to take me seriously.”

I know what Achilles thinks of Helen and her charmed life, but it strikes me that it would be awful not to have control of your own fate. Regardless of our origins, both Achilles and I have made our choices again and again without anyone forcing our hands. No one has tried to marry us off to secure some kind of alliance or refused to acknowledge anything about us beyond our looks. “I suppose a diamond cage is still a cage.”

“Yes.” The word is little more than a sigh. “Patroclus?”

“Mmm?”

The tiniest hesitation. When she speaks again, she sounds soft and tired and not at all the fiery woman I’ve dealt with up to this point. “I really didn’t mean for things to get out of control with Achilles. I…like you. I’ve always liked you. I never would have hurt you on purpose. I just…” She gives a bitter laugh. “I get reckless when I’m hurting, and I was feeling vulnerable after… Well, if you hadn’t stopped the treadmill, I probably would have run myself into the ground. It doesn’t excuse what I did, but I truly am sorry.”

I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say to that, but I get the feeling that Helen doesn’t open up to anyone, so I can’t leave this confession hanging. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.” Ridiculous that all I want to do is comfort her, hold her until that fragile shake in her voice disappears. I should be clinging to my anger, but it all feels like too much effort right now. I lean against the headboard and close my eyes. “It’s okay, Helen. We’re good.”

“Oh. Good.” Her voice goes faint, as if she’s falling asleep. “The funny thing… I want to sleep with you. I don’t even like Achilles. Mostly.” She yawns. “But I would happily climb you like a tree.”

Desire shoots through me, as intense as it is inappropriate. Knowing the attraction I feel is reciprocated… Does it even matter? Achilles should be my first priority. Even if I wasn’t his first priority when he fucked Helen.

When was the last time I took something—someone—solely because I wanted to without worrying about how he’d feel about it? He is the selfish one, the brash one, the one with a heart he’s all too happy to give to anyone who catches his fancy. Yes, he keeps part of himself for me and me alone, but even when I’ve indulged with other people, it’s been about a moment’s pleasure rather than chasing a connection.

I feel a connection with Helen. I don’t know if it’s lust or the potential for something more. Up until this moment, I had resigned myself to it remaining unexplored. But Achilles pulled that trigger first, didn’t he? It’s not as if he can blame me for making the exact same selfish choice he made…

I drag in a rough breath and guide my thoughts away from the brink. “Go to sleep, Helen. I’ll watch over you tonight.” And tomorrow?

Tomorrow, we’ll see.